Some Kind of Dream
by Stuart Pidasso
Summary: With the world's age of wonderment ending, many spirits have chosen not to revisit our world. The few that still make the voyage do so more out of necessity. During one such visit, Frederick Clarkson will discover the existence of these mythical people wh
1. Spirits

**Introduction**

 **Some Kind of Fairy Tale** as described by Stephen King, "Here is a keenly observed tale of a family in crisis, one that mixes fantasy and psychiatry in a potent cocktail." —Stephen King, "The Best Books I Read in 2012", _Entertainment Weekly_

First, let me mention that you need not have read **Some Kind of Fairy Tale** (Winner of the British Fantasy Award for Best Novel) to venture into this work of fan fiction. This novella was written to honor the late Graham Joyce and entice new readers to seek out his book. Those who have read his story will recognize many of the characters as they interact with my two created protagonists. And for those who have not read the book, you need not worry about spoilers.

Thank you for visiting this story, my tribute to a beautiful writer and gifted storyteller.

 **RIP Graham Joyce**

 **1954-2014**

 **...**

 **01 Spirits**

They have always been a mischief bunch, those spirits of a different sort who like to appear when you least expect it. In a time when North America had no name, these spirits rose up from active faults that once crisscrossed the landscape. In one particular area in the far north, they roamed freely during the birth of forests and formations of lakes, and through the arrival of the first people, in the land currently known as Minnesota.

This woodland paradise did not simply begin its existence from beneath mountains of ice, but from volcanoes. Like forged steel, the land developed over centuries, first molded by fire, followed by ice, lifted by volcanic activity and later shaped by miles of glacier ice, all of which gave Minnesota its topography of forests, prairies, and fresh water lakes.

The untainted water of the first lakes and rivers enchanted these playful spirits, the water purity being such that the lakes shone like diamonds when the sunlight reflected off the surface. During this period, the once mighty elm trees thrived and gave Minnesota a rich greenness, so charming, that this land became a home away from home for these merry folk, becoming one of their many places to which to visit and play.

When the first native people appeared, the spirits welcomed the change in habitat, for they found these native people more akin to themselves, living off the land, though sometimes violent to one another, but ultimately these new inhabitants lived in harmony with nature. The native people named the spirits Canoti, but these spirited forest dwellers did not openly mingle with the native people, for they preferred teasing their new friends, encounters that became ancient Indian folklore still told today.

Tragically, when a new set of people migrated from over the ocean with mindsets that crushed nature under foot, the land became poisoned. Patches of forests fell from the landscape, and the native people were forced to travel west, for the disruption to the habitat made living off the land impossible. The sacred waters began to lose their shine, and the narrow mindedness of the new settlers tainted the air, dampening the magic of the land.

Though many of the playful spirits would decide to stop visiting this part of the world, a few continued to frolic among us, personally bounded to the land of fresh water and forests. This tale is about one of those spirits and a human that caught her attention.

My name is Frederick Clarkson, and I am that human who caught the eye of a restless spirit. Unbeknownst to me, I had become that spirit's special interest many years prior, well before she decided to introduce herself to me on one fateful day: the day I nearly died.

At the time, I worked at a large hospital in southern Minnesota, processing the medical billing before sending it to the insurance companies. A mundane job like many, I only stirred with life with the approach of lunch—not to eat mind you—but to climb the 20 flights of stairs for exercise. Every day with a cell phone in hand and a pair of ear buds, I climbed the 20 flights, touched the door to the roof, and descended rapidly to the bottom in double succession. This tedious climb of 40 levels burned off the morning stress and left me with a runner's high that helped me through the afternoon.

On my fateful day, I began ascending the stairs the second time, but with clouded thoughts. As the music in my ear buds seemed to fade, my thoughts focused on the locked door at the top. Every day I climbed to that door and saw the tiny red light on the security card reader, and I always wondered if my name badge would allow me onto the roof. Prior, my badge had never failed to open a door at this vast hospital complex, but I never waved my card before this particular reader since it would register with security, and I had no valid reason to be on the roof. This day, I wanted to know.

Reaching the top of the steps in seven minutes, I stared at the red light as sweat poured down the side of my face to bead below my chin. Without hesitation, I pulled my photo identification card from my shirt and waved the I.D. in front of the reader to hear the lock click, the red light switching to green. Surprised that my card had worked, I almost hesitated too long to pass through to the roof before the door relocked.

Catching my breath upon the roof, I heard the door immediately lock behind me with a loud click as the gusty summer winds kissed my sweaty skin. Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and focused on the air brushing against my cheeks with my face lifted to the sunlight. My pulse quelled somewhat, and slowly, my focus moved to the edge of the building.

Approaching the solid wall railing, I pulled out my ear buds and tucked them into a pocket along with my cell phone. I rested my elbows upon the stone ledge and peered down at the sidewalk. Directly below me, people passed as they traveled between the various hospital campus buildings, many heading to and from the cafeteria across the street. The roar of the city surprised me as the cacophony of the traffic seemed to be amplified, reverberating upward between buildings, but this too quickly faded like the music that had been playing on my cell phone.

A woman's voice unexpectedly cut through the din of wind and traffic when she asked, "What are you waiting for? Go ahead and jump."

Startled, I turned to find a woman next to me, dressed in shorts and a frilly blouse, casually gazing over the roof's ledge. Her glistening long black hair floated about her face as the various updrafts of wind lifted her hair about her shoulders. Without turning her head, she brushed her hair aside as her eye drifted to me. "But if I were you, I'd wait for a gap in the crowd below. You don't want to ruin some innocent person's day; do ya?"

Already flush from climbing the stairs, my face burned as my emotions surged—leaving me speechless. Seeing how the woman's lips curled up into a smile beneath her furled brow, I felt even more angered by her intrusion.

The woman returned her full gaze to the sidewalk below. "Even if you wait for a gap in the crowd, I'm afraid that someone's summer dress is going to get splattered; you're basically a giant blood-filled water balloon." Turning to face me, the woman straightened as she leaned against the railing. "I wish you luck though; let's hope you land on your head. Sure, you're guaranteed to die no matter how you land, but who would want to suffer those few seconds of suffocating, not to mention all those protruding broken bones. That brief agony would not be something I would wish on my worst enemies. And trust me when I say this, I have a lot of enemies."

Paralyzed by her frankness, I watched the woman pull a fresh pack of cigarettes from her blouse pocket. As she broke the seal, her tan skin and facial structure reminded me of the Native American women I more frequently saw in the northern Minnesota.

The woman pulled a stick from a matchbook as she stepped closer to the protruding stairwell door in search of shelter from the wind. After a couple bursts of profanity, she lit her cigarette on a third try and took a long drag. She exhaled slowly as she stared with disdain at the cigarette between her fingers. As she took another long drag, she returned to the railing, appearing disgusted. She held up the cigarette and said, "Stupid bastards. They even ruined something as simple and as pleasurable as this. I can taste the added chemicals."

I continued to stare at her.

"Do you want a drag?" she asked, smiling. "Not like it's going to kill ya." When I shook my head, she flicked the unfinished cigarette over the side. "Wise choice. It's not as enjoyable as it once was."

Turning my head away, I found my hands hot and sweaty. I spread my arms far apart to brace myself against the wall railing.

"Looks as if the herd is thinning," she said. "You should now be able to make the leap without landing on anyone." She leaned over the railing, scanning below. "I wonder if anyone will vomit. I'm sure many will look at your mangled corpse, if just for a brief second."

I gazed down to see that the lunch crowd had thinned with many people having returned to their offices, but all I could focus on was the stranger beside me. I thought her to be of my age, with a build of an athlete or laborer, shoulders tanned and shapely like a farmer's daughter. Her face only had minor wrinkles, but when she turned to look at me, I found her eyes to be a rich brown, almost sparkling like gold in the reflecting sunlight.

She turned her head slightly. "You shouldn't wait. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to jump."

Feeling as if this woman could read my mind, my eyes began to well. I turned away as my breathing deepened.

"What? Afraid of what awaits you on the other side?" The woman smiled as she continued to look down. "We all must find out at some point. Odds are that only a peaceful blackness awaits us, if you believe the trending thought. Whether heaven or an eternity of darkness, you cannot lose."

I swallowed hard as a hot tears roll down my cheeks, the wet streaks chilled by the brisk winds.

"Tell you what," continued the woman as she coolly eyed me. "You climb on top of the railing, and I'll push you. I'll stand quietly behind you and won't announce when I'm going to push."

"Stop it," I replied, choking on the words. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"What?" The woman took a step closer, allowing me to smell the woodsy scent of her skin and clothes. With a peculiar smile, she whispered, "I'm trying to help."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am. We both want your suffering to end; don't we?"

"Stop it." I swallowed hard in search of my voice. "You know nothing about me."

"I don't have to read your mind to know what's happening." The woman lifted her chin tersely, her finger gently tapping the railing. "Are you afraid that someone might miss you?" The woman took a slow step backwards, her hand drifting atop the railing. "We both know the answer to that; don't we?"

Tears burst from my eyes as I openly began to wail. Inhaling deeply, I tightly gripped the stone slab railing with the sole desire of a long deep sleep. Sobbing, my body shook as my hands pawed aimlessly at the slab. Already exhausted from life, I struggled to stay on my feet as the wind bristled against my burning face. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing, listening fixedly to the wind rustling in my ears. There I stood immobilized for some time, numb to everything when a man shouted at me to step away from the railing. Turning slowly, I discovered two hospital security guards staring intently at me.

The senior of the two guards stood with empty hands at his sides and said in a nonthreatening manner, "Sir, for our peace of mind, could you please step away from the railing."

Staring at the man, the recent events with the woman flashed through my mind. When I realized that she was no longer at my side, I began gazing about the rooftop in search of her.

"Sir, please step away from the railing," said the same guard.

When the man repeated his words a third time, I turned to him. "Where did the woman go?"

"We were told nothing about a woman. Sir, please step away from the railing."

A chill ran through me as I glanced at the empty spot next to me. Looking back at the guards, I realized their unease and stepped towards them. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to check out the view."

Without touching me, the senior guard directed me towards the protruding stairwell door. "No one is allowed up here. How did you get access to the roof?"

"I used my key card." Pulling my I.D. badge from my pocket, I passed it to the guard.

The guard flipped the badge between his fingers. "Only maintenance and security should be able to gain access to the roof. Where do you work?"

"Billing."

The man gave me a look. "We'll have to review your security clearances."

Turning slowly, I again sought out the woman. "There was a woman standing next to me at the railing."

The second guard shared a look with this cohort before circling around the protruding stairwell. When he emerged from the other side, he shrugged.

"Is there a second door to the roof?" I asked.

The guard passed my badge back to me. "No. And we encountered no woman when we came up here."

I glanced back at the railing before turning back to the guards. "She was about my age, possible Native American, physically fit, wearing a loose fitting blouse with large pockets, and shorts?"

"We saw no woman." The man proceeded to radio the surveillance room as he pointed out to me the security camera atop of the protruding stairwell. The person on the other end of the radio promptly confirmed that only I had been seen through the camera.

Stunned further by this revelation, I leaned against the doorframe and began rubbing my puffy eyes. My emotional state evident to the guards, I simply nodded when the senior guard suggested that we return to my office to meet with my manager. Upon entering her office, my manager knew immediately that I needed help, us having shared a strong rapport for years. I agreed when she suggested that I go to the emergency room for a psyche consultation, "just to be safe" as she put it.

Hospitalized once prior, I knew it better to volunteer than to resist, so I accepted the guards' offer and allowed them to escort me to the emergency room, and later, when the doctor asked how I felt, I simply said, "Sad." When the doctor asked if I intended to harm myself, I choose not to answer. When the doctor asked if anything unusual had happened recently, I confessed to my hallucination of a woman trying to convince me to jump off the roof.

I conceded to security's account that neither they nor their security camera witnessed a woman on the roof; however, I had to look the doctor in the eye and confess that I thought the woman to be real, for if anything, I would be lying to myself

When the doctor suggested a hospital stay for a full evaluation, I accepted, knowing well enough that I would have been admitted under a 72-hour hold if I had refused.

As I waited for an escort to bring a wheelchair to transport me to mental health, my thoughts remained focused on the woman and her golden eyes. I could still recall her woodsy scent, and cruel smile. _If she was a hallucination, was she my subconscious?_ I pondered, staring down at my twiddling thumbs. I proceeded to wonder if I had climbed up onto that railing, would I have felt a ghostly hand push me.

I stared at the various patient pamphlets protruding from a brochure wall display. The hospital's name, St. Mary, topped each pamphlet, and the name led me to think of an angel. I huffed at the preposterousness. _What kind of angel would be so honestly cruel_ , I thought. _Why waste saintly time on me? Why now, after the fact?_

When my escort arrived, I soon found myself pushed through the underground tunnels of hospital, forced to listen to the guards' weekend plans of fishing and drinking beer—sadly realizing that I would not be mountain biking anytime soon. We arrived to mental health, and I remained in my wheelchair as instructed until wheeled to my room, where I discovered that I had the room to myself—the 72-hour hold in effect after all.

The nurse introduced herself and attached my identification bracelet around my wrist before spewing out the various rules of the floor. Finding that the rules had not changed since my last visit, I proceeded to unlace my shoes without instruction and confessed to my prior admission, promising to be more cooperative—unlike last time. The sympathetic nurse stowed my shoelaces and other possessions in the room's lockbox before leaving for her rounds.

Left to lie on my bed, I propped up my pillow and waited for the first round of constipation inducing antidepressants to arrive. With the room free of television, I was left with only my thoughts, all of which recalling the encounter with the woman on the roof, contemplating if another hallucination awaited me.

When the nurse returned later that evening, I swallowed the standard cocktail of bedtime pills: an antidepressant, a stool softener, and a sleep aid. However, sleep did not come—despite my emotional exhaustion. With only the nurses' rounds interrupting my peace, I found the darkened room and the solitude relaxing. Once the doctor on call ended the frequent blood pressure checks, the interruptions became even fewer. This being my second visit to this ward, I more quickly accepted the tranquility that came from being isolated from the outside world.

However, once all traffic in the hallway had completely ceased and the lights outside my room dimmed, did I realize that I was not alone.


	2. Déjà vu

**02 Déjà vu**

My quickening pulse throbbed in my ears as I lay completely still on my hospital bed, the only sound being that of my nervous breathing. Staring at the shadow cast by the external wardrobe in my darkened hospital room, I swallowed hard and asked in a whisper, "You are here, in my room; aren't you?"

Speaking in a gentle tone, the woman from the roof replied, "Yes."

I sat up to find the woman sitting in the guest's chair in the corner of the room, near the foot of my bed.

Highlighted by ambient lighting shining through my sole window, her solemn stare and glum facial features easily revealed a certain focus. Still appearing relaxed, she folded her hands in her lap above crossed legs and asked, "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," I said, shrugging. "It's déjà vu for me since I've been admitted here once before. I can already say that I don't plan on visiting anymore rooftops in the future."

"Good."

"Are you a hallucination of my own creation?"

"Hallucination?" The woman uncrossed her legs and gently shoved my bed with her foot, which caused me to sway slightly. "Did you feel that? Or did you mind tell you that the bed moved?"

"If you are real, how did you evade security on the roof?"

The woman smiled. "I jumped."

"You jumped? Are you a cat, now with one less life?"

"Not exactly."

After long pause, I asked, "Are you an angel?"

"No." As the woman stared at me, her smile grew. "Are you?"

Ignoring her quip, I continued my questioning. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

"Just to make sure you are safe."

"And why do you care? Who are you?"

The woman gnawed her lip, ignoring my questions and presenting her own. "Why do you live in the city?"

Turning to the closed door to my room, I wondered if the nurses at the monitoring station could hear me. I glanced at the security camera above the bathroom door before replying, "What do you mean?"

"I have never seen you smile when you are in the city. Why is that?"

My eyes narrowed with concern. "I sure hope you are a hallucination because that sounds like stalking."

The woman glanced out the window. "I only check on you from time to time, nothing more."

"So you're some sort of guardian angel?"

The woman reached into her blouse pocket and removed her pack of cigarettes. "We're not angels, though some theorize that we are somewhere in between them and humans." She swiftly lit a cigarette, dropping the spent match on the floor. Taking a deep drag, she blew the smoke in my direction. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Actually, yes." Rubbing my finger nails hard over my exposed skin, I contemplated if I was dreaming—if I could wake up. Recalling our encounter on the rooftop, I gestured towards her poised cigarette hand and asked, "I thought you didn't like those?"

"I don't." The woman took another drag on her cigarette, exhaling the smoke upward above her head. "When I come back here, these help me to reminisce."

"About what?"

"What it was like before your kind came and destroyed everything."

"My kind? Humans?"

The woman's brow furled as she took another drag and exhaled slowly. "Europeans."

Noticing how the glow of the cigarette reflected in her eyes, I asked, "Are you Native American?"

"Do you mean Indian?"

"Yes. Is there another politically correct way to say it?"

"How about Indian?"

Studying her dimly lit features, I took wild guess at her tribe, assuming it regional. "Chippewa?"

"Sioux."

"But..." Not wanting to anger her, I let the matter drop as I repositioned myself on the bed.

The woman took another drag before asking, "But what?" When I refused to continue, a faint smile formed on her lips. "You may find this hard to believe, but I like you. I'm here to help, so you can say anything to me. I won't be offended."

"Okay. You're a mix. I went to school with some Chippewa."

Flicking ash onto the floor, she smiled with a simple nod. "You are correct. My grandmother was once enamored with a trader when she was young."

"Stock trader?" I asked.

"Not quite," she continued. "You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"Why don't you ever smile in the city?"

Having never thought about with what facial expressions I wore, my gaze drifted down to my bed as I thought over her question. "Don't know. I grew up in the woods by a lake. It wasn't easy leaving the countryside."

"So why did you leave the woods?"

"Had to," I replied. "I wanted to find love, make money, explore and do things." Combing over my memories—the many things I never accomplished, I bowed my head and sighed. "Things just didn't work out as planned."

Without a care, the woman flicked more ash onto the floor and then took another drag. "Why don't you return to the forest?"

"I cannot. I need the money."

"For what?"

"I have to pay child support; I have a daughter."

The woman froze, staring at me as if surprised by the news. "Daughter? Where is she now?"

"With her mother...in the Philippines." The proceeding silent glance from this woman told me that she had left the door open for me to expand. "Her mother quickly became bored of me. She grew to hate me and decided to return to her home country. We were able to keep this out of the courts when I promised to send her money every month."

"When did they leave?"

"A year ago, just after my daughter's eighth birthday."

"Do you miss her?"

With a weakened voice, I answered, "Yes."

With narrowing eyes, the woman pointed at me with her cigarette hand. "You hesitated with your answer."

Swallowing hard, I cleared my throat and confessed, "I don't miss the stress of being around her mother."

"And...?"

"My daughter cannot speak. The doctors called her spectrum or something, diagnosing her with an acute speech delay. Her mother blames me since it is assumed that my daughter inherited this from my side of the family." Perplexed by my own divulgence, I numbly watched the ash from the woman's cigarette fall onto the floor. "It is impossible to teach my daughter anything when there is no communication. Things were so difficult that I began to wish that she had been born without legs instead of lacking the ability to communicate. We couldn't even teach her to sign." My hand fiddled with the loose bedding over my legs, gripping bunches of fabric as my emotions surged. "I thought life would be unbearable if my wife ever took my daughter away. And the first couple of weeks were unbearable, but..."

"You adapted," said the woman, correctly. "You became accustomed to the separation."

Wiping a tear from my cheek, my face burned with shame. "I failed her. I should not be okay with her being on the other side of the world, but I am. What does that make me?" I began to sob.

The woman calmly stood from her chair and circled around my bed to stand before me. Taking a last puff, she dropped her cigarette onto the floor and stepped it out. She bent over and lifted my chin with her finger. When our eyes met, she released a slow, reverberating hush that seemed to wash over me, inexplicably calming me as my sobs subsided. The woman then said something in a foreign language unknown to me before switching back to English. "It's not your fault. You did the best you could."

"But I abandoned her."

"No, your wife took her. Those early years are the most important and you passed on your patience and kindness. She will remember that. It will be okay."

Inexplicably, I believed this stranger. Staring into this woman's brown eyes, I thought her irises glowed ever so faintly.

Her stare then shifted to the side, as if listening to something in the distance. Releasing my chin, she straightened as she reached into her blouse pocket and removed her pack of cigarettes, dropping them on the bed with the book of matches. "I have to go."

Wiping my cheeks dry, I stopped myself from reaching for the woman's hand as she stepped backward. "Will I see you again?"

The woman continued backwards, stepping towards the corner of the room closest to the door. "Yes. If you want."

"I do."

"Then we will see each other again." The woman calmly positioned herself into the corner, her arms calmly at her sides.

"How do I get a hold of you? How will I find you?"

"I'll be around."

The door to my room swung open, blocking my view of the woman as two nurses entered. My assigned nurse sniffed the air before focusing on the pack of cigarettes on my bed. "There is no smoking in the hospital." The perturbed nurse huffed before flipping on the lights to my room.

As the other nurse closed the door to my room, I peered around my nurse to discover that the mysterious woman had vanished. With the bathroom door closed and locked, I quickly scanned the room.

"Did you hear me, Mr. Clarkson?" The nurse snapped up the pack of cigarettes and matches from my bead. "I'm confiscating these. If the doctor permits it, we will escort you outside if you need a smoke break."

Perhaps, since I had never smoked a cigarette in my life, or how animated the nurses had become, a smile stretched across my face. You see; those were not my cigarettes, which meant that I had never hallucinated. Something unexplainable may have just happened, but something did occur. Relieved, I now felt certain that I was not going mad.

My nurse crossed her arms as she glared at me. "I'm glad that you are finding this amusing, but I will have to report this."

Though I could not explain my recent encounter—nor did I have any desire in mentioning it to the staff, the recent event felt therapeutic, exciting even. Most importantly, I now understood that I need not be afraid, and so my smile grew further.

"Mr. Clarkson, you are not helping the situation."

"Sorry," I said. "I'm really trying to quit smoking." With that lie, I chuckled unabashedly.

My nurse planted her hands upon on her hips as glared at me. "Your blood work tested negative for drugs, but perhaps I should have them test you again. Do you have any other contraband?"

The thought of another needle stick did lesson my smile. "No ma'am." I turned on my bed to let my legs dangle off the side, folding my hands politely in my lap. "I'm sorry. The cigarettes are not even mine. Someone gave them to me."

"Who?"

"A woman. I think she was visiting someone here; I'm not sure whom. She passed them to me before she left."

My nurse sighed heavily as she exchange doubter's looks with her coworker. The nurse then returned her perturbed gaze to me. "The stench has reached the hall and is upsetting the other patients."

"I'm sorry," I said. "You can open the window in my room if that will help." I glanced at my one window in the room and immediately remembered from my last visit that the windows could be opened. Realizing my misstatement, I again chuckled loudly.

Probably out of spite, my nurse did take another blood sample in search contraband substances that I may have ingested, and after a quick search of my room, they eventually left me to my own. This time, with more pleasant thoughts of the woman with golden brown eyes, I promptly fell into a deep slumber.

During the next couple of days, I cooperated with the medical staff to such a degree that the doctor asked if I had a history of bipolar in my family. Remaining cynical, my nurse kept a close eye on me since one of the elements tested in my blood, nicotine, returned negative. Despite her distrust, I always presented a smile towards her and went to all my therapy sessions—though I barely paid attention. I answered every question posed to me and became the model patient, I probably could have been discharged prior to my 72 hours, but that would have meant returning to work, which in its own way, surrounded me with just as much mental illness—no offense intended towards my office mates.

Discharged late Thursday afternoon, I returned to my empty house only to speculate if the mysterious woman would appear. I stood on my back deck, still littered by a few of my daughter's toys, and waited for the woman to appear. At one point, I called out, _Hello?_ The forthcoming response came in the form of a questioning look from my neighbor cooking before his outdoor grill.

Returning inside, I stood in my daughter's room and stared at her toys collecting dust on the closet floor, lying as they did when her mother left one year ago. This time, the melancholy feeling did not crush me as it once would.

When I returned to work Friday morning, my boss welcomed me back as she returned my identification card—my door access privileges now severely restricted.

When I sat at my desk, I found recalling what I was doing before my hospitalization difficult, but thankfully, my friend Dee came to check up on me. I smiled at seeing her, for she was my only friend, and not just at work—perhaps a moniker unbeknownst to her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better than last time." Recalling my prior hospitalization, I smiled. "Actually, I feel great compared to last time."

"Really?" Dee borrowed an office chair and rolled up next to my desk. "I don't recall you wandering onto a tall rooftop last time."

"Oh." My smile wavered. "True. Um, I just needed the fresh air, to see the world from a new perspective. Haven't you ever wanted to check out the view?"

"Not really."

"How many years have we worked here and never checked out the view?"

Dee hemmed, unfooled by my malarkey,

"Besides," I continued, "I wouldn't have met that woman if I had not wandered out onto the roof."

A passionate romantic at heart, Dee's voice rose with curiosity, asking, "What woman?"

"Oh...um, some patient followed me onto the roof."

Dee gave me her signature skeptic look—-a look most likely reserved for me. "From the employee stairwell?"

"Um...I don't know. She was lost."

"And what happened on the roof?"

"Nothing. We just talked. Well...she did all the talking. Actually, she..." I then realized what had she had actually done. "She was very mean to me. She even encouraged me to jump."

"What?" Dee stared at me with mouth agape, stunned by my news.

I looked into my friend's eyes and smiled assuredly. "She wanted to make me cry. She saved my life."

"That's preposterous."

"No. I was dead inside. I could have easily stepped off the roof without a second thought. She woke me up. She knew that all I needed was a good cry; she made me stop and think."

Bewildered by it all, Dee continued to stare at me.

"I owe her my life."

"Did you tell the doctor about this woman?"

"It didn't come up." Gnawing my lip, I decided to keep the woman's second visit, and how she slipped out of my room, to myself.

"Well, I guess you should thank her." Dee stood and returned the borrowed office chair to its desk.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I counted the hours until lunch. "If I ever see her again, I most certainly will."


	3. Iktomi

**03 Iktomi**

When the midday hour arrived, I sprang from my desk and entered the stairwell with my bagged lunch. Knowing that the roof would not likely be a meeting place, I descended one floor to the lobby level. I exited the hospital office building and began searching the crowded sidewalks for the mysterious woman.

After a few minutes of searching, I crossed the street so that I could look up towards the top of the twenty-story office building for any signs of movement, whether it be her long shiny hair waving in the wind or a wave of her hand. With no signs of life on the rooftop, I returned my search to the passersby.

 _She probably doesn't like crowds_ , I thought. Considering the massive hospital campus, I contemplated a secluded building that would not have much traffic. My eyes soon came to rest on an old church located across the street, on the west side of the building where I worked.

Passing through an arch in a tall brick wall, I entered a large courtyard surrounded by several massive oak trees. The winds were brisk, causing the branch's shadows to shift back and forth over the well-kept grass. Before a fountain, the dancing light shimmered around a woman sitting on a stone park bench with her back towards me, her long black hair glistening in the sun.

I approached slowly, fearing that the woman would be someone else, but as I neared, a joyous feeling came over me as her head turned to reveal a warm smile, which I returned. "You look happy today. I hope you are well?"

"I am. Thank you." She motioned me to join her on a park bench. "You look much better than when we last met."

I happily joined her on the bench. "Thanks to you."

"Did your doctor pump you full of drugs?"

"They began to," I replied, "but, a fellow patient showed me how to hide the pills on the side of my tongue. I flushed most my medication down the toilet."

"Poor fish." The woman returned her gaze to the fishless fountain before us, the clear water shimmering as it flowed down yellow stone steps into a shallow pool.

I stared nervously at the water and said to break the silence, "I've heard that trace amounts of drugs, legal and otherwise, end up in the water supply in big cities. They say the amount is so faint that it is harmless. Makes you wonder though."

The woman simply continued to smile.

Opening my bagged lunch, I pulled out a clear plastic bag containing her cigarettes and matches. "I believe these are yours. They gave them back upon discharge."

The woman faintly shook her head. "You can keep them. As I said before, your kind has spoiled them. Even without the additives, the tobacco has been changed by modern farming."

"My kind?" I continued to smile, unaffected by her remark.

Her lips revealed a faint sneer that broke into a grin. "I meant settlers."

"I figured as much." Dropping the cigarettes in a wire trashcan at my side, I returned to my paper bag lunch to produce an apple, banana, and a ham with cheese sandwich. I sat the fruit between us and proceeded to unwrap the sandwich. "Would you like half?"

The woman glanced briefly at the sandwich. "No, but thank you. I stopped eating meat a long time ago."

"I can pull off the ham."

"No need. I only eat fruits and nuts."

"No cheese?"

"Nope."

"Okay, but I think the nut house locked up the wrong one of us." When I caught her gaze drifting to the fruit a second time, I offered them to her. "Please. I only like to eat fruit after climbing the stairs for exercise. I'm not climbing today, so please."

The woman smiled as she took the banana. "Thank you." She peeled the fruit and took a bite. "Not bad, but it isn't nearly as good as the ones we grow."

"You live on a farm?" I asked, gleefully taking a large bite from my sandwich.

The woman paused chewing, shrugged, and then swallowed her bite. "I guess I do. Never thought about it before."

"Can you grow bananas in America? I don't think they can even be grown in Florida?"

The woman peeled the banana skin further, looking as if she were studying the quality. "No, not Florida. It's a place far away. A place few have ever heard of.

"What's it called?"

The woman took another bite. After further contemplation, she said, "It doesn't have a name. We just call it home."

The woman's riddle only added to her mystery. I happily eyed her as I took another bite of my sandwich.

The woman's attention then turned to the giant oaks. "I like it here. It almost makes being in the city tolerable."

"If I didn't spend my lunches in the stairwells—and if our winters weren't so long and brutal, I'd have all my lunches here." I gazed about the courtyard to find that we still had the church courtyard to ourselves. "It is odd how so few people visit here. I hardly even see any patients come here to pray."

"Maybe they pray inside, in front of the altar?"

Finishing my bite of sandwich, I pointed to the oaks. "I'd rather pray before these trees. Imagine if they could talk, if they could describe the changes that happened around them." I hesitated taking my next bite to point at the trees along the street. "People used to say that sunlight never touched the city streets in the early days. The old elm trees were so tall and grand that they blocked out the sun. Many elders have told me that most of the city streets in Minnesota used to be lined with giant elms."

Inhaling deeply, the woman straightened as she viewed the distant landscape. "You're right. I cannot believe that I missed their absence. Minnesota used to be blessed by giant elms when I was a child. The rivers were lined with them."

"What are you talking about? Dutch elm disease didn't wipe out the giant elms until the late 60s, early 70s. You're no older than me."

The woman grinned discreetly. "I'm much older than you. Older in ways you don't understand...yet."

"Really?" I retorted with a hint of sarcasm. I popped the last bit of sandwich in my mouth, smiling as I chewed.

"Yes. When I was a child, Minnesota had yet become a state."

Picking up my second half of sandwich, I had to pause.

"It's true," said the woman with a faint smile. "But that's fine. I don't expect you to believe me."

"Okay," I said. "I'll play. What was it like when you were a child?"

Her lips formed a defiant smirk, but they melded when she continued with her story. "Minnesota was even more beautiful than it was now, but like the elm trees, we had our own plague. Ours came in the form of settlers."

My smile grew at the whimsicalness of her story, but when a solemn look unexpectedly overcame the woman's expression, mine followed suit. "Sorry."

"It's okay." The woman leaned forward as she held the apple before her, again slowly inspecting the fruit before taking a bite. She chewed for a while before asking, "Do you know of Minnesota's war with the Dakota tribes?"

My brow rose with heightened curiosity, for I did enjoy history. "Yes, of course. When I was a kid, my church minister kept close ties with the White Earth Chippewa tribe. He and my mother made sure I understood what really happened to the native people. I think this is why I grew up questioning government propaganda."

The woman again bit into the apple, becoming lost in thought.

Chewing on a bite of sandwich, I nervously swallowed. "Did you have relatives that were directly involved?"

"Yes." The woman looked at me. "I remember it almost as if it was yesterday."

My insides nervously tightened from the sincerity of her tone. Slowly, I returned to my sandwich.

"What do you remember of the Dakota War?" she asked.

Inexplicable, my skin felt clammy as I quickly swallowed my food. "Just that western migration of settlers was making it increasingly difficult for the Sioux to live off the land, forcing them to sell much of it. When the agents and traders started stealing the funds promised to the Sioux, the Sioux began to starve. When the Indians asked for help, the lead government trader told them to eat straw or their own dung. Soon after, things exploded into violence. I was taught much more, but this is all I can remember at the moment."

The woman took another bite of apple, holding the mostly eaten fruit before her face. "Have you ever been so hungry that you'd consider doing the unthinkable just for a bite to eat?"

"No. I've been very fortunate."

"I've been that hungry." The woman's eyes slowly drifted to me. "It's amazing how savage a human, any human, can become if starved." Returning her gaze to the apple, her eyes welled with pending tears. "My people were trying to make it work. We really were, but the settler encroachment was an unstoppable flood; that is how someone once put it to me. We understood that life as we knew it would change us forever, but we just wanted our fair share, to be able to sit at the same table, but they rolled right over us, crushing us under their heels. There was nothing we could do."

The air in the church courtyard seemed to change, becoming heavy. I no longer felt like eating.

"Two years before the war, I had a friend shot and killed in cold blood by a farmer. The farmer claimed that he thought the young man and his friend were deer. Trust me; my friends were not a threat. We have never looked like deer."

My sandwich crust quivered in my hand. I cleared my throat and said, "You say this as if you were there."

"As unbelievable as it sounds, I was there, at that time." The woman looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "Do you believe me?"

Taking a moment to compose my reply, I said, "I want to believe. If not you, I'm sure someone like you suffered this great tragedy and loss."

The woman took a smaller bite of apple and chewed more hurriedly. "When war broke out, I took shelter with a neutral tribe, the Yankton Sioux. The Yanktons opposed the war and even provided shelter to white settlers. How was this kindness by the Yankton and other merciful tribes rewarded?"

"They—" I cleared my throat again. All the Sioux were forced out of the state."

"Yes. All the Sioux were blamed. Even mixed-bloods like me were persecuted. But not the agents or traders who stole from us."

Remembering Minnesota's darkest history, I asked, "Did you have any relatives executed?"

The woman's voice weakened further as she spoke. "No, but I knew some of them. Most of the 38 executed were innocent."

"It was the largest mass execution in the United States. I remember from my teachings that the city of Mankato didn't take down plaque commemorating it until the 70s." I bowed my head and said softly, "I always thought it strange to commemorate something like that."

"Strange, is it not." The woman bit off the last piece of flesh from her apple, staring at the narrow core left between her fingers. "What of the other's sins?"

"Others?"

"The grave robbers."

Knowing instantly of this particular sin, sweat began to run down my back. "The bodies stolen by the doctors? I think many were returned in the 90s, even the skeleton connected to this hospital."

Pinching the stem of the apple between her fingers, the woman let the core hang in the air. "President Lincoln should have hung all 303 like they originally wanted."

"Why?" I asked.

"Don't you remember?"

"No. Sorry."

"They and others rounded up ended up dying from starvation and disease in the prison camps as they waited for deportation to Nebraska. Over 300 died in captivity."

Diverting my eyes, I began to speak in a pensive tone. "I do remember now. The ones that survived were forced march to Nebraska and South Dakota. Why do you think President Lincoln saved the rest from execution?"

The woman's look became stern. "The president did not spare anyone. If you study how the events unfolded, the facts will tell you everything you need to know. The president first asked for those who truly committed a hangable offense, but his clerks could only find two. That was not enough for President Lincoln, so he told the clerks to find more until they presented him 39. The president thought that this number would make the settlers happy. One would think that the president, a lawyer, would be outraged that the trials for many of the men lasted less than five minutes, but the president did not pursue looking into any of those questionable events."

Out of nervous habit, I began rubbing my sweaty palms on my slacks. "It was probably the death of innocents that fueled the call for vengeance."

"The Dakota war claimed innocent lives on both sides. Why would President Lincoln treat the Sioux differently if we are all _Americans_? During the American Civil War, innocent civilians from both the North and South died because of the South's uprising. Did they think that Sherman's brutal march to the sea to be of military importance? It was not. The president did not hang a single southern soldier or southern political leader for the South's uprising, but he found it easily to hang 39 tired and starving Sioux, people who had been betrayed by the Union."

"I don't know. Maybe he was preoccupied with freeing the slaves."

The woman chided me, replying, "Former slaves freed the slaves. It was their hard work, not the president's." The woman set the apple core on the ground and sighed. "If you don't listen to the president's polished words and focus on his actions, what does it say about the man?"

Doing as this woman suggested, I ignored the rhetoric drilled into my head as a child and focused on the double standard shown to different people. I recalled how the president was not a complete favorite of the north, having to fight hard for his reelection. And like other leaders, only his assassination turned him into a martyr. "His actions tell me that he was just another politician."

"Yes; just another politician. I was so angry that I wanted my own vengeance." The woman's hands bunched briefly into tight fists before she spread her fingers wide and laid them over her knees, sighing. "Not of the president, mind you, but I did consider going after Governor Ramsey or possibly Sibley. Being mixed-blood, I knew I could have passed as a settler and gotten close to these men."

As her story drifted farther from reality, I began to wonder if this angry woman was actually a patient of the hospital.

She looked into my eyes and smiled. "I know you think I'm insane, but I'm not."

"No," I lied. "I just think you're very interesting."

The woman chuckled and said, "That is what Iktomi told me."

"Who?" I inquired.

"Iktomi. I was strolling through the forest, practicing my English to appear European when the man rode out of the shadows on a great white horse. He laughed at my English and said that I sound like no one he had heard before. He had no right to criticize me, for his accent was nothing that I had heard before. He claimed that he had learned to speak proper English many years ago back in England. Thinking his tongue forked, I eyed him with caution but quickly recognized him from several months earlier. With a gasp, I asked if he was Iktomi, and he said yes."

Lost in this odd turn in her story, I immediately asked, "Who is Iktomi?"

"In Sioux mythology, he is known as the spirit who enjoys causing mischief. His name translates into _spider._ Iktomi often toyed with the young male Sioux who would foolishly try to capture him in a quest to prove their manhood."

"He really existed?"

"Yes. I met him once before at a trading post, while others were selling their dwindling trappings. I was waiting outside when this man approached me. He was flirtatious, but polite, so I continued to talk to him when my younger cousin joined me, immediately becoming frightened when he recognized the man. I turned to my cousin and told him to mind his manners when he said that the stranger I was talking to was Iktomi. That man had caused my cousin and his friends to get into trouble for riding the tribe's horses too far across the prairie weeks prior. I hushed my cousin for his silliness, but when I turned to apologize to the man, he was gone."

I began folding my brown paper bag for reuse when I asked, "Are you sure it was the same...man." I smiled with the realization that I had become absorbed into her impossible story.

Perhaps amused by my reactions, the woman returned my smile. "Yes, I'm sure. When Iktomi found me practicing my English, he admitted that he had led my cousin and his friends on a long chase across the prairie; he even apologized for his abrupt departure at the trading post. He said that he was happy to have found me."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to save me." The woman's face—along with her tone of voice—became austere. "He said that I was a lost spirit, that I shouldn't go with my tribe when they march us out of our lands. He told me to let go of my silly quest for vengeance since the great flood of people from Europe will only continue, that their expansion will destroy many innocent lives as they spread to the other ocean. He warned that this tide was unstoppable. Instead, he offered me a place in his tribe, claiming that his people were immune to the European expansion. He promised me that I could be myself and would never have to live in fear. I would never go hungry again."

I wanted to ask if she had accepted Iktomi's offer when I stopped myself, wondering more if this woman was delusional.

Undeterred by my disbelief, the woman continued to smile at me, knowingly so. She continued, "I asked Iktomi for the location of this magical place immune to settler expansion, but he only disclosed that it was at the end of a sacred tail to the north, beside a lake the Chippewa called Tamarac. It was obvious that he was not Chippewa, or even mix-blood like me, so I asked for the name of his tribe. He said Canoti. It was not the word itself, but how the word flowed from his lips—as if carried by wisps from the Canoti themselves. I immediately became dizzy and fell to the ground, though I did not lose consciousness."

"Who are the Canoti," I asked.

The woman turned to sit sideways on the park bench. "The Canoti are the little people of Sioux folklore."

"What? You mean fairies?"

The woman lightly shook her head. "Don't call them that. They don't like that name."

"Fairies?"

"Yes. They have never liked that label."

Enjoying this twist in her story, I smiled. "Are they actually little?"

"When they want to be, but usually they are normal size."

I pulled on my face in an attempt to hide my smile.

"It's okay if you want to laugh at me," she said. "I don't mind."

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm...actually happy." Gnawing on my lip, I stared into her golden brown eyes. "A week ago, I was the saddest I've ever been. I never would have thought that a week later I'd be sitting here talking to a woman about fair—, little people of the forest."

Appearing pleased, the woman diverted her eyes to the fountain and said softly, "Thank you."

"Please continue; what happened next?"

The woman looked briefly up at the sky, combing her memories. "He laid himself down next to me, and we watched the trees sway above our heads. Oddly, he did not say a word for a long time. And once the shock began to wear off, I simply asked if I was dreaming; I didn't know what else to say. Iktomi laughed and leapt to his feet. He walked to the white horse and removed something from a pair of straw panniers slung over the animal's back. Returning to my side, he presented me bluebell flowers. When I held them in my hand, I realized that these were not native to this land. I again suggested that this was a dream. He said, 'There is dreaming, and then there is dreaming.' He explained that the dreams we're accustomed to are in black and white. He then asked me what color were the flowers. I replied that they were the most beautiful blue I had ever seen. 'See,' he said. 'You're not dreaming.' When I inquired about the other kind of dreaming, he simply picked a flower and popped it into his mouth, saying as he chewed, 'That is something that I hope to teach you someday.' He had most infectious smile.

Feeling the hard park bench, I slid off the stone slab onto the grass before the woman. "He sounds like a shady character."

"He's not. He's the sweetest, most passionate man you can ever meet."

"Did you go away with him?"

"I did, but it wasn't easy. He said that we had to leave right away, that I did not have time to say goodbye to my tribe who would soon leave for the forced march to Nebraska. He then told me that if I should change my mind by the time we reached the sacred trail that he would leave me with the Chippewa. They would adopt me into their tribe if I decided not to follow my people to Nebraska."

"You didn't change your mind; did you?"

The woman grinned. "No, I did not. He even gave me one last warning, telling me that if I went with him that I would be sacrificing everything, that the world I knew would no longer exist if I should ever decide to come back. As we rode upon the great horse along the path of bluebells, I knew in my heart that I had chosen wisely."

As she reflected over that decision, I could sense that her simmering anger had dissipated, her entire body appearing more relaxed. Hoping she would continue with her story, I asked, "Did you end up sacrificing everything?"

"Oh yes. I did not return for almost three years. When I did, I discovered that 118 years had passed. Everyone I had known had died. I could not even find a distant relative. I saw automobiles for the first time, and airplanes."

Leaning against outstretched arms, I admired even more this woman's creativity and storytelling ability. "Don't forget television."

The woman eyed me. "I haven't. That was the strangest discovery of them all. I stopped at a diner and found people eating at a counter, staring up at the box with a moving picture. I thought how ironic that these descendents of the settlers who conquered our lands were now controlled by such a small contraption. I could tell immediately that their lives were bound to it, influenced by the messaging. To me, television was the new tidal wave sweeping over the land. I hated everything I discovered and returned to my new family."

"Why are you here now?"

The woman hesitated to answer, but when she broke her silence, she spoke with a delicate tone. "I'm here for you. I've come back to make you the same offer that was made to me by Iktomi."

My insides tightened as her words oddly registered with me. "What? Move up north? You mean White Earth Reservation?"

"No. To the place where us spirits of another sort call home."

I stared at the woman, remaining silent, not wanting to insult her.

"I'm here now because the stars in the universe have given us the opportunity for you to visit and not lose everything. When I left this place, my choice was clearer since my world had already been destroyed. Today, I come back to give you the option many of us never had. Often, when humans decide to return permanently to this world after visiting our, they end up paying a severe price. I believe you should have a choice and not have to pay that price, that is, if you should decide not to stay with us."

The bells of the church chimed one o'clock, startling me back into reality. I rose to my feet and began retrieving the remnants of my bag lunch. "I enjoyed your story very much, but I have to get back to work."

The woman rose from the park bench. "You have to decide by sundown Sunday. You won't have an opportunity of choosing again."

Unsure how to respond, I forced a smile and said, "Thank you again for the story."

When I turned away, the woman gripped my arm. "Wait. I have a gift." Upturning my free hand, she reached into her blouse pocket with her other. She placed something soft into the palm of my hand before cupping her hands around my mine. "If you want to find me, you only need to follow your heart."

When she released my hand, I looked down to find a half dozen bluebell flowers resting upon the palm of my hand. Their petals were the bluest thing I had ever seen. I became captivated, but when I looked up to thank the woman, I discovered that she had already disappeared from sight.


	4. Tamarac

**04 Tamarac**

Entering the cubicle farm of my office, I continued to stare at the bluebell flowers in my hand as I slowly made my way to my desk. The vibrant blue in my hand did not seem possible, but when my fingers glided over the petals, the flower felt very much real, the scent simple and pleasing.

Dee noticed my trancelike state as I stood next to my desk. "What are you doing?" she asked.

I glanced at my friend for a moment before setting half of the flowers onto the corner of her desk.

She gasped as she picked one up by its plucked stem. "Where did you get these?"

"Um...some woman outside is giving them away." I sat into my chair and deposited my remaining flowers onto my desk, propping them up one at a time against my monitor stand.

"Why are you being so cagey?"

I turned my chair to find my friend observing me. "I'm not being cagey."

"Yes you are. How long have we known each other? I can tell when something is up."

"What?" I smiled. "Some woman is handing out splendidly blue flowers. That's all."

"These are splendid." Dee further inspected the flower in her hand. "These cannot be native to Minnesota. I'd remember them if they were."

"I agree; I don't think they are from around here. There are similar flowers up north where I go mountain biking, but they are a light blue, nothing like these."

"Why is the woman handing them out?" asked Dee.

"What do you mean?"

"Are they handing out the flowers for an event or charity?"

"I don't know." I calmly faced my desk.

"So," said Dee, sounding skeptical, "someone is handing out these gorgeous little gems just for the hell of it?"

"Yes," I replied, feeling defensive. "I guess. I don't know. I just accepted them."

"Not cagey, my ass."

Grinning, I gestured to the door. "If you want, we can go outside right now and ask her."

"No no. That's fine." Dee glanced at me from the corner of her eye. "I'll find out eventually. I always do."

Happy to let my white lie drop, I returned to studying my flower. "Who knows; maybe these are native to Minnesota. The next time I go mountain biking, I'll look for them, perhaps even this weekend."

"Do you even know where to look?"

Sniffing the petals, the subtle floral scent reminded me of the woman's instructions to follow my heart. Smiling, I replied. "I think I do."

 **...**

Unable to sleep, I awoke early the next morning to drive the five plus hours needed to reach Tamarac National Refuge—my home away from home. Here, I often spent my summer weekends, biking on the trails and swimming in the lakes. After unloading my bike, I fastened two large water bottles to the frame—the forecast predicted to be sweltering. With biting black flies and mosquitoes insisting that I do not stop and think, I promptly hopped onto my bike and began my search for the bluebells...and the woman.

Traveling on a narrow service trail used by park rangers, I biked a 12-mile circle through the forest. Passing by several clearings that displayed wildflowers, I stumbled upon several white and yellow varieties—their names completely foreign to me since I never had an interest in botany. At one location, I discovered a great swath of purple flowers. For all I knew, I may have found every type of wild flower native to Minnesota, except for the elusive blue.

Biking past the clearing where I had parked my car, I biked through a small section of woods that opened up into a much larger prairie that once was a settler's farm. Biking east, I headed for the south side of Tamarac Lake—the location the woman had mentioned in her story. The landscape dazzling any time of year, I would have paused had it not been for all the unrelenting biting insects whipped up into a fervor by my sweat; nonetheless, I pushed my way through the half mile of prairie grass only to discover small white wildflowers dotting the shoreline.

I returned to my car, bleeding from many bites, out of drinking water, and exhausted. Frustratingly tossing my bike under the back hatch of my car, I jumped inside to start the engine so that the air conditioning could blast over my body.

Trying to recall other wildflower sightings, I realized that the flowers seemed more frequented at the edges of clearings and near the lakes, so most of the forest could be ruled out. I then remembered another abandoned farm on the other side of the lake, alongside a second smaller lake named Flat Lake. Needing to save my energy, I decided to drive to entrance of the trail.

Back on my bicycle, the search along the trail only resulted in more insect bites and worsening dehydration as my profuse sweating only increased in the hot afternoon sun. At the end of the trail, all I found was a stifling hot prairie with cattails heavily dotting the swampy edge of Flat Lake.

Nearing complete physical exhaustion, I decided to ride past my car parked on the side of a gravel road and head for the north side of Tamarac Lake. I turned off the gravel road onto a long narrow path that led to a secluded boat landing. Though there were dozens of lakes in the refuge, this one location provided a convenient place to swim since the swampy shoreline remained clear around the boat landing.

Biking hurriedly to stay in front of the biting flies, I made the last turn on the rutted dirt road and skidded to a stop at the edge of a small clearing. Letting my bike fall, I tore off my baseball hat and shirt as I stepped onto the concrete boat-landing slab that led to the water. Stripping off my shoes and socks, I gripped my shorts when I noticed the mysterious woman skinny-dipping in the water.

As if lost in a dream, I numbly stood frozen and stared.

She turned, as if expecting me, and smiled. "Well. Aren't you going come in? You're going to be eaten alive all covered in sweat like that."

No sooner, a black fly bit me on my shoulder. I instinctively slapped the insect and spitefully stomped out its tiny life as it struggled on the ground. However, I did not rush into the water, for I quickly fell into another trance as the woman turned about, her flesh gracing the surface of the lake as she swam.

The woman changed directions, swimming perpendicular to the shore. "If you are a prude, I'll turn away so you can finish undressing." She turned slowly towards the center of the lake, swimming a slow breaststroke.

When a second fly bit hard into my side, I slapped the pest and promptly pulled off my shorts and underwear before gingerly stepping over algae covered stones easily seen below the surface of the water. As soon as water reached my thighs, I let myself fall forward and began swimming for deeper water.

Deeply submerging my head with each breaststroke, I made sure to rinse the sweat from my face and hair to lessen the scent that seemed to attract the flies and mosquitoes. As I followed the woman, I found myself swimming into light winds, which also aided in deflecting the insects.

The woman began treading water and turned to face me. "Now, isn't this better?"

"I was afraid that I wouldn't find you. I was looking for the bluebells."

One corner of the woman's mouth curled up as she briefly glimpsed south over the water. "Not everyone can find the bluebells, even when they are right under their nose."

"What if I hadn't decided to go swimming?"

"I would have sought you out, but I knew that you like to come here on the hotter days."

I began swimming to the side so that the late afternoon sun would not blind me, all the while, keeping an unthreatening distance between the woman and me. "I wish you would have sought me out earlier. I'm exhausted."

"Poor baby." The woman gave me a pouting look before splashing water in my face. "Exercise is good for you. It clears your thoughts, which you need. You have an important decision to make."

Pressing the splashed water from my eyes, I said, "I've already decided. I want to visit your tribe. I'm ready to go."

"Not today," said the woman. "Tell me tomorrow." The woman then began to circle me, just out of reach, her swimming skills much better than mine. "You cannot formally accept until tomorrow."

"Why?"

"I want you to be certain." The woman slowed as her expression turned serious. "If you visit my world, it will cost you a year of your life. You will only experience days in my world, but you will actually be absent from yours for a year. Your absence could cost you everything."

My brow became heavy with the news. "A year? Why didn't you tell me at the hospital? I could have prepared, taken a leave of absence."

"I didn't tell you because you would not have come." Failing to hold back her smile, he eyes betrayed her keenness. She was right, and we both knew it. She dove beneath the water, her buttocks breaking the surface.

When she reemerged further away, I swam towards her. "If I go with you tomorrow, what will I see? Whom will I meet? Is everyone mostly Indian?"

The woman turned to me, slowly swimming backward into the breeze. "There are only a couple Indians. But you'll mostly find a large variety of people."

"But you say they are all fairi—." I bit my lip. "They are spirits of a different sort?"

"Yes."

"Are you one?"

The woman gave a faint shrug, her lips forming a faint grin.

"How do I know that you're not a forest nymph, or naiad, here to abduct me, to lure me into the water?"

"Why would I do that?" The woman turned her face into the sun, her skin glistening under the warm sunlight. Her brown eyes appeared golden and radiant.

Clearing my throat, I replied, "You tell me."

As we treaded water, our bodies drifted closer, to the point we were within arm's reach from one another.

Feeling usually bold, I asked, "May I kiss you?"

The woman paused briefly, and without divulging a hint of emotion, replied simply, "No."

My gaze diverted to the water as I let her drift away.

"Don't be sad," she said as she swam backwards towards shore. As she swam, her smile only seemed to grow. "I'll tell you what; if you can answer one simple question, I'll have sex with you."

I inhaled a splash of water and began coughing. Clearing my throat, I choked out the words, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me; answer a simple question, and I'll have sex with you. You can do whatever you want to me. I will be a princess or a whore. Whatever you want."

I began following the woman towards shore. "What if I get the answer wrong?"

"Then you don't get to have sex with me. As simple as that, there is no catch."

With a beaming smile, I said, "Okay. What is the question?"

The woman began treading in place. "What's my name?"

My swimming slowed as my eyes flitted away. Slowly, I returned my gazed to the woman who had clearly noticed my social indiscretion.

Mockingly, the woman looked at me inquisitively. "Don't you at least want to take a guess?"

"I don't know your name. I'm sorry."

"There is no harm guessing."

Feeling dejected, perhaps embarrassed, I flippantly guessed, "Pocahontas?"

The woman sneered at me from behind her smile. "Oh, please. Is that the only Indian name you know?"

"Maybe," I said. "How about _Swims in Water_?"

"Now you're just being silly."

Encouraged by her smile, I again drifted towards her, "May I have a clue?"

"One."

"Is it an Indian name?"

"No." The woman turned and again swam for shore.

"No?" I frowned. "That actually makes my guess harder."

"Not my problem." The woman spun around and began swimming backwards. "What's your guess?"

My attention focused on the woman's golden brown eyes. "Olivia?"

"No." The woman simply stared at me as if not amused by her easy victory.

"Can I still kiss you?"

"No. You guessed wrong. Those are the rules."

My thoughts returned to our prior encounters. "You never told me your name."

"I sought out and learned your name, Frederick. Weren't you curious about mine?"

With my embarrassment growing, I began to look away when I detected a faint smile beneath knowing eyes. "You know don't you?"

Lifting her chin slightly, the woman remained obstinately silent.

"You know that I have trouble remembering names; don't you?"

The woman nodded. "You are different, like your daughter."

With a heavy sigh, I directed my gaze away, to the dense trees along the shoreline. "Then you know that if I was born today, they would have diagnosed me with a mental disability and pumped me full of drugs."

The woman scowled at me. "You are not disabled. Like your daughter, you are just different, enhanced."

"I have never felt enhanced."

"But you are. Please tell me; how did you label me since you never sought out my name?"

Feeling foolish, I hesitated to answer as I swam past the woman towards shore. With a sigh, I replied, "In my mind, you are more of a visual bookmark. I don't connect word descriptions to people; I take mental snapshots. If I had to describe my image of you, I'd say that you are a most interesting Indian woman, fit and strong, with captivating eyes."

"Do you make mental snapshots for everyone you meet?"

"Yes. I've worked with a handful of doctors for over 10 years, and I still cannot remember all their names. I see their faces, their hairstyles, and the common suits they wear, but I have no clue to their names. I've tried various remembering techniques, but they never work. I have even pulled up their profiles repeatedly on the computer, hoping it would help me to remember, but I don't. I feel bad each time I fail to address someone by their name."

The woman swam up alongside me as we neared the shore. "Don't feel bad. Iktomi thinks you may have evolved beyond everyone else. That perhaps a distant relative of yours may have crossed paths with one of us. That is perhaps why you are different."

Feeling the algae covered rocks under me, I stopped swimming and faced the woman. "What would Iktomi know of me?"

"I brought Iktomi here on one of my visits to get his opinion of you."

"You spied on me?"

"No. We are all fond of being in this forest, and during one particular visit, Iktomi and I decided to observe one splendid forest creature: namely you."

My head lifted as a forgotten memory rushed back to me. "The abandoned farm on the east side of wildlife refuge, I spent an afternoon there, lying in a simple hammock that I had brought. I remember swinging in a strong breeze, foolishly talking to a golden eagle that circled high overhead—basically talking to myself. Occasionally, I would stop and listen to the forest. I kept thinking that I could hear whispering."

The woman's smile grew. "Yes. Iktomi and I were in the forest, observing you. He was impressed by your oneness with nature."

I laughed aloud.

"What?" she asked.

"This is insane. You're insane." Frustrated, I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against my forehead. Taking a calming breath, I opened my eyes and sighed with relief when I found the woman undeterred by my emotional outburst. "Sorry," I said. "I did not mean to be rude. I just don't believe any of this."

The woman's demeanor remained warm, never wavering. "Then why are you still here?" she asked in a friendly tone.

"I'm still here because..." Swallowing hard, I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly before saying, "I'm still here because I want everything you have told me to be true. I don't believe that you are over a century old. I don't believe in Iktomi. But in my heart, I wish it all to be real."

With an approving look, the woman began to walk out of the lake, the water dripping from her nude body. Using her hands as squeegees, she began brushing the beads of water from her skin.

From the shoreline, I watched with my mouth agape in blissful silence. When she reached for her clothes, I asked, "No kiss then?"

She fumbled with her blouse, turning it right side out. "Nope, but if you want, I'll stand here naked for a bit longer so you can masturbate."

"You'd do that?"

With a raised brow, she coolly eyed me. "Would you?"

Nearly breaking out into laughter, I shook my head before turning to the side "I'm sorry I stared, just now."

The woman pulled up her loose fitting shorts. "I don't mind. I still consider you a gentleman."

"Am I?"

"Yes, of course." The woman combed her fingers through her hair, squeezing out the lake water before brushing it past her shoulders. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Once she had donned her clothes, my thoughts returned to our previous discussion. "What is your name?"

Smiling, the woman rested her hands upon her hips. "You tell me."

"Why won't you say?"

"I could, but you'd just forget it."

Feeling the sting of her lighthearted barb, I bit my lip. "I would never forget your name."

Smirking, the woman crossed her arms. "Perhaps, but you don't label people with names, you see them for what they are."

"I'm a freak," I said, my smile fading. "Like my—"

"Don't" The woman again scowled at me. "Like I said, you are emotionally enhanced." As her scowl faded, the woman turned her head to the woods and whistled. Gnawing her lip in though, she slowly turned back to me with a fresh thought. "Tell you what; why don't you name me."

"Why? I won't forget."

"I want you to pick a name. This way, it will be something special between us."

After a short pause, I relented and said, "Mary."

"Why Mary?"

"You saved me on the roof. It reminds me of a song in which a Mary, a sister, saved the protagonist."

With a nod, the woman smiled with approval. "Mary it is."

The sound of foliage under heavy foot drew our attentions to the trees. Out of the shadows, a great white horse emerged. The creature calmly entered the clearing, stopping before Mary. Scratching the beast's neck briefly, Mary swung herself up with ease onto the animal's back, which was free of a saddle.

Taken aback by the animal's magnificence, I looked up at Mary and asked timidly, "What is your horse's name?"

"He doesn't have a name, and he belongs to no one. He's my friend."

The horse bowed his head, and I immediately felt as if the animal was studying me, and not just casually—as if I had blocked its path. The animal seemed to hold a genuine curiosity towards me.

I nervously slid back into deeper water. "Why no name?"

"Like most animals, he doesn't want to be named. You two should get along nicely."

"I hate names because I can never remember them. Why do animals hate names?"

"If we name them, they feel as if we have taken away a piece of their liberty."

"Don't you do the same by riding him?"

Mary patted the horse's neck. "Oh, no. I haven't forced him to do anything. He's my friend and likes to help me travel between our worlds. Besides, our trips give him the opportunity to eat as many bluebells as he likes."

Seeing the animal still fixated with me, I waved my hand and said, "Hello."

Mary burst out laughing as the horse's head bobbed gently, the animal apparently amused.

"What?" I asked.

"For someone who doesn't believe in my tales, you certainly don't show it."

From mixed emotions, my face became flush. "Well, I'm sitting here naked at an edge of a lake, talking to a supposed 150-year-old woman riding the most incredible horse I've ever seen. Something has to give. Like I said before, I want to believe."

"I know you do." Mary whispered into the horse's ear, and the animal began to turn.

Not wanting to see her go, I began to stand when I promptly dropped back into the water, for I was a prude. "Where and when do we meet tomorrow?"

Mary looked back over her shoulder. "How about your normal parking spot on the other side of the lake? Come any time before sundown. We'll be around."

"Okay."

As horse and rider entered the forest, Mary called back to me. "Remember that this adventure will cost you a year of your life...if not everything you hold dear."

Somewhat stunned by it all, I remained in the water as I listened to the sound of the horse press through the foliage, well out of sight. Already reminiscing the extraordinary day, I was smiling when multiple mosquitoes simultaneously bit my neck and back, pulling me into the present. Stepping gingerly out of the lake over the slippery, algae-covered stones, I reached the concrete boat-landing slab without falling and dashed for my clothes. Hurriedly, I donned my shorts and shirt as the biting insects attacked. Slipping on my shoes, I hopped onto my mountain bike and began pedaling.

Passing the spot where the horse had entered the forest, I could see the faint disturbance in the brush, but no more, for there was no trail in this section of forest that I could remember. With black flies landing on my skin, I ignored my curiosity and began to bike forward.

That night in my motel, I consumed a pizza and several bottles of water as I listened to classical music on a staticky bedside radio. I felt giddy by all the strange events, astonished at myself for wanting to travel with this woman, Mary. I had never taken a risk in my life, never ventured anywhere exotic. Over the course of my dull life, I did everything expected of me, paid all my taxes, even drove the speed limit. _So why am I willing to follow this stranger to some strange land? Why risk everything_? Biting off another large bite of pizza, I thought, _Because I have yet to live._ Something Mary had already taught me.


	5. An Awakening

**05 An Awakening**

When I awoke the next morning in my motel room, the apprehension I should have been experiencing the day before took hold of me. Lifting my hands, they shook subtly, the anxiety felt throughout my body. Last night when I retired to bed, I wanted to rush back to the forest to search for Mary and accept her offer, but after a restful sleep, I felt more reserved.

Fetching a fast food breakfast, I sat in my motel room and thought over Mary's warning. If she was playing with me, I would be back in my empty house by tonight, returning to my mundane job the next morning. If she was truly of a different sort—magical or otherwise, then I would be going on a great adventure. _But was any adventure worth risking everything?_ I pondered.

With midday approaching, I began to explore nostalgically my old haunts, observing at how my childhood town had changed, changes that I had not noticed until now. Eventually, my stomach began to crave lunch, and my hunger directed me to my favorite hamburger joint. Filling my stomach with greasy meat, salt, and sugar, my brain soon needed to relieve the growing anxiety, so I returned to the woods for another mountain bike ride.

With my bicycle unloaded, I hesitated to begin my ride with the worry that Mary could appear at any moment. However, the ferocious insects were not so patient, and their bites urged me onto my bicycle. When I reached the halfway point on the trail, I chugged a bottle of water while pedaling with a light cadence, trying to keep ahead of the black flies before making the 6-mile trek back to my car.

The day was perfect with the sun crossing a cloudless sky and a light breeze drifting off the lakes, cooling me on the winding trail. Passing from one lake to the next, I glided along the dirt trail, pressing south. If anything came from this weekend, I could tell Dee that I enjoyed two invigorating bike rides.

Arriving back at my car, I quickly tossed my bike under the hatch before hopping inside for some needed air conditioning. With my lunch burned off, I sat calmly in my running car, catching my breath as the tops of the trees swayed ever so gently. Letting the engine run, I sipped from my second water bottle and began contemplating my past mistakes—as I often would after a ride. _What would I do different if given a second chance?_ I thought. Realizing that I would probably just make a different set of mistakes, I nervously chuckled as I continued to sip my water.

However, the events unfolding were different this time. Mary was not a drunken girl at a college party; she was not a gaudy tattoo that would fade with age; and she was definitely not some thrill seeking stunt that taunted death. Mary was special, whether or not her stories were true.

My bladder broke into my train of thought, and forced me from the sanctuary of the car. Standing before some brush, I urinated as a barrage of insects swarmed me. Finishing prematurely, I rushed back to my car with the realization that sunset was nearly three hours away, time I did not want to spend in the car. If I turned off the car's engine, the interior would heat up in mere minutes; likewise, opening the windows was not a possibility with the ferocious insects ever on the hunt.

As I debated driving around or letting the engine run, the movement of a large white object in my rearview mirror signaled Mary's arrival. Looking over my shoulder, I spotted the woman riding on the back of the great white horse as they emerged from a trail from the back of the parking lot, a trail I rarely travelled.

Turning off the engine, I exited the car and greeted the pair with a smile. "Hello, _Mary_."

The woman smirked at my pronunciation of her name. "So you do remember?"

"Name or not, I'd never forget you. I wasn't sure of the exact time, so I came a little early."

When the horse stopped before me, Mary remained mounted on the creature, her look stoic. "Have you decided?"

"Yes. I would like to travel with you and meet your people."

Betraying her tension, Mary slowly inhaled through her nose. "You will be away for a year, and possibly lose everything you leave behind here."

"I am aware of your warning, and accept the consequences."

"But, you don't fully believe me."

"I want to. But none of this matters, I simply want to be with you."

My words seemed to register with the woman, for her face softened. Soon after, she nodded acceptance.

This was when I noticed the absence of the pestering insects and began turning in a slow circle. "That's strange."

"What?" inquired Mary.

"I'm not being eaten alive by the mosquitoes and flies."

Mary smiled. "I asked them to leave you alone."

I glanced up at the woman, unsure of what to say.

"Once you learn how to ask, you'll find most other life forms amenable to suggestions."

I held out my arms to see if I could detect any insects, "Don't mosquitoes need to bite to live."

"Just females for their eggs. To survive, they only need nectar. I promised the insects that I'd lead them to the bluebells if they left us alone." Ignoring my doubting look, Mary nodded for me to look up.

When I lifted my gaze, I found a hovering cloud of insects just out of reach. The large assortment of biting flies and mosquitoes drained the blood from my face. Glancing at the horse, I thought the animal was smiling, amused by my reaction.

Mary offered me her hand. "Up we go."

Befuddled, I gazed up at her atop the great horse. "How do I get up there? I need a stool or a stump."

"I'll pull you up. Give me your hand."

"Really?"

"Yes." She gestured again for me to take her hand.

When I reached up, she gripped my hand much tighter than expected and easily pulled me up onto the horse, depositing me on my stomach with my legs dangling off on one side. Flaying about, I eventually sat up straight behind her.

"You should hold onto me so you don't fall off."

"Um…." After a bit of fidgeting, my hands came to rest on her hips. "Is this okay?"

The woman's face betrayed her amusement as she turned her head. "Sure. If that works for you."

"Wait. I have an overnight bag in my car. It has a couple days of clothes. I should get it."

"You don't need it," she said before whispering something to the horse.

When the animal began to turn, I posed the question, "Is that because we're not really going anywhere special?"

"No. We're going, but you won't find your clothes as comfortable as the ones we'll give you. You're better off without them."

"Okay." Looking over my shoulder, I could see the cloud of insects beginning to follow us. "I think the flies and mosquitoes coming with."

"I certainly hope so. I promised them bluebell nectar."

Suspecting that she had sprayed herself and the horse with some sort of insect repellent, I attributed her explanation to be another tall tale. "Have you ever asked the biting insects to _attack_ someone?"

When Mary glanced over her shoulder, her eyes appeared flirtatious, especially when accompanied by her smirking lips. "From time to time, when feeling playful. We _little people_ do like to have our fun when we visit your world."

"I suppose you lot are the ones who hide our car keys and cell phones, making it look as if we misplaced them?"

"Heavens no. The s _priggans_ do that. We prefer to play with actual humans, not their belongings."

I inhaled the pleasant scent emanating from the woman's long black hair, the smell reminding me of summer rain. "Would tricking a human—such as myself—into riding off to some hidden land be one of those things that the _little people_ like to do?"

"I'm not tricking you. I've given ample warning of what may happen if you should accept."

"And I appreciate that." As the horse travelled along the trail from whence we came, I ducked under some branches, as did Mary. "Are there any dangers at this place we are going?"

With a slight hesitation, she replied. "Some, but I will keep an eye on you. I'll keep you safe."

"Could I die?"

"You could, but you are more likely to die in your world than mine."

I smiled. "Fair enough."

The horse followed the narrow forest trail up a slight incline, heading towards a larger utility trail, but when we reached the intersection, the horse unexpectedly continued forward onto a rarely traveled trail used only in the winter by cross-country skiers.

"Um," I began to ask, "how long will this journey take?"

"We should be crossing over in about an hour, with the twilight."

"I see." I gazed about from atop the horse, the high perspective new to me. I had ridden this trail on my mountain bike before, but only a couple times, since the thick wild grass only slowed down my progression and, on occasion, tangled in my chain. I had to admit that traveling this overgrown trail by horseback pleased me much more than it ever would on my mountain bike.

Within less than an hour, we turned onto a smaller side trail that I had only investigated once before. The sunlight began to diminish, but not from the setting sun. The dense foliage overhead had formed an arch over the trail, which gave the woods an eerily feel as the accustomed forest sounds also seemed to lessen.

Looking off to my side, I spotted bluebell flowers, the ones Mary had given me at our lunch meeting. "Those are that flowers," I said. "These are the ones I was looking for yesterday."

"You are correct."

Looking back, I found our cloud of insects dispersing as they dove for the nearest bluebells to harvest their nectar.

"Don't these flowers need more light?"

"No. They get plenty."

"Are they native to your world?"

"They are native to both our worlds; they seem to thrive in the passages in between. They actually prefer the moonlight."

"Isn't that just sunlight reflecting off the moon?"

Mary hemmed before saying, "Not exactly. It's more complicated than that."

"I see," I replied with blissful ignorance. "So the panniers are mostly for collecting the flowers."

"Yes. You will see that we don't live near these passages in our world. Whenever one of us travels between worlds, we harvest a couple panniers of flowers." As if reading my mind, Mary lightly tapped my leg in mock scolding. "You wait and see. You have so much to learn."

"Please ignore my teasing, and please believe me when I say that I'm enjoying myself immensely."

Mary hemmed again.

As the sun started to dip below the horizon, we continued traveling unhampered along the darkening trail. Though it was harder to see, I could still make out the passage as slivers of twilight slipped through the dense tree canopy. With a warm glow in the sky, we exited the dense forest and entered a wide prairie, its vastness easily viewed in the twilight.

Collecting my bearings, I failed to place myself. "I know the southern part of the wildlife refuge like the back of my hand. Did we cross the county road and enter the middle section?"

"No."

"Where are we?"

"Where do you think?"

Trying to think of a snide remark, my senses unexpectedly came alive. Goosebumps began forming over my arms as a light breeze swirled around us; the scent of the prairie filled my nose with a rich earthy odor. Everything around me seemed to have a faint glow from the subtle ambient light. As the horse carried us upward towards a crest of a hill, I studied my surroundings as if given a new set of eyes and unable to speak.

Mary touched my leg. "How are we doing?"

"Something has happened."

"It has."

"We are somewhere different."

"We are."

"This is not Minnesota."

"It is not." Mary glanced at me over her shoulder, smiling. "Iktomi was right; your senses are strong."

The smell of fresh water permeated my nose. I inhaled deeply and asked, "What do you mean?"

"You're very keen to your surroundings."

"I've always known that," I said. "I attributed my physical awareness to Darwinism. It's how I survived the many bullies in school."

"No. It's more than that."

Reaching the crest of the hill, the horse began nimbly stepping down a rocky hillside towards dense woods. These woods appeared much darker that the last. And despite sun setting and the encroaching darkness, I did not begin to worry, for the horse continued to step surefooted, entering the next section of forest with ease. As we progressed, moonlight began to grace the tops of the trees, seeping down around us, highlighting the foliage.

No sooner had we entered these wood, we exited onto a sandy beach. The moon sat poised high in the night sky, illuminating the landscape with phenomenal clarity. Before us, a lake rippled from sporadic breezes as the horse treaded through sparkling sand. As we followed the shoreline, I tried to judge the size of the large lake, noticing the many flickering lights that dotted the shoreline.

"What are the lights?" I asked.

"Campfires. It's very common for everyone to gather at the beach to relax. We are a social bunch."

The water seemed to have a faint luminescence with the moonlight brightly reflecting off the surface. Not needing the sun to appreciate the lake's beauty, I became mesmerized. "It's amazing."

"Wait until you see it during the day," said Mary. "If you are not tired, I can introduce you to Iktomi. It's up to you. There is no rush."

"I'm not tired at all. Take me to your leader."

"He's not our leader." Leaning forward, the woman whispered to the horse, which then turned towards a large ramshackle house shrouded in darkness. "We don't really have a leader. Iktomi has been here longer than most, so he is a good source for advice."

"There has to be a leader."

"No." The woman gestured to the lake. "If we have a leader, it's the lake."

"The lake?"

The woman nodded. "It's a living thing."

"It's just water."

"Your mostly water," she retorted

"Touché." Focusing on a nearby campfire, I could now make out the shadows of figures as they danced around the light. Some of the people danced and sung, while others were still, sitting on the sand.

Reaching the house, Mary nimbly tossed her leg over the animal's neck and slid off, I following suit—though more slowly as Mary observantly kept me from landing on my face. She next removed the panniers from the horse's back, allowing the gentle creature to proceed on its own into an adjoining stable.

Reaching for a dandy brush, Mary proceeded to brush down her friend. "I hope you don't mind, but I want to do a partial brushing before we go inside. He was so kind to carry us."

"I don't mind." Sheepishly, I stepped around to see the animal's face and said, "Thank you."

The horse subtly bobbed its head, and Mary translated his meaning, saying, "Your welcome."

Feeling giddy, I aimlessly gazed about the moonlighted stables. "I know nothing about horses. If I can help, tell me how?"

"I got it."

Before my face, the dust from stable drifted through a stream of moonlight. I held up my hand and studied the light upon my skin. Unable to explain it, I found the light different from what I was accustomed. Studying every minute detail around me, all my senses felt heightened, as if awakening from a long sleep. "Are we still on earth?"

"Yes...and no."

I turned to find Mary finishing her swift brushing of the horse. Judging the look she presented me, I smiled back at her and said, "Let me guess, it's complicated."


	6. The Pledge

**06 The Pledge**

When we entered the large ramshackle house, the front room stood quiet as a gentle breeze drifted through open windows. Old furniture appeared scattered haphazardly, distinguishable only by a light emanating from a doorway opposite from us. Mary had told me that they shared the house with several others, and though difficult to see, I could tell that none of the inhalants liked to clean.

"Hello?" called out Mary.

A woman's voice calmly answered from the lit room. "It's just me."

Mary waved me to follow, and as we entered the room, I found myself in a kitchen lit by a pair of brass oil lamps, one resting on a counter near the sink with the second set upon a cluttered kitchen table.

Dressed in a loose fitting one-piece mini skirt, a tall woman with long blonde hair stirred a pitcher of red liquid. Without looking at who had entered, she said, "I just made some strawberry ambrosia. Do you want...some?" The woman froze for a moment before spinning around, her eyes—yellow like a cat—locked on me. When she spoke, her words rolled off her tongue. "I see. We have new blood."

"I'd love some juice," replied Mary as reached into a cabinet for clean glasses. "And let me introduce you to Frederick. Frederick, this is Ekko."

As Mary filled a glass, my attention remained fixated on Ekko's face. "Are those your real eyes?"

"Of course they are, silly man." The tall woman turned to her friend. "That's a first."

Mary simply smiled.

"What?" I asked, my gaze shifting between the two women.

Ekko took the pitcher and began filling a second glass with light red liquid. "Most new arrivals normally stare at my tits."

My eyes instantly drifted down to her bosom, which her loose fitting clothes barely covered.

"Like that." Smiling, Ekko took a sip from her drink with a justified look.

"Would you like to try our special strawberry juice?" asked Mary.

Feeling the heat radiating off my flushed face, I diverted my eyes and replied, "Yes, please."

Mary took a third glass, but only filled it a quarter of the way before passing it to me. "Since this is your experience with this, you should only drink a little on your first day."

Sniffing the sweet smelling liquid, I found the aroma subtle and pleasing, but hesitated to taste it. "Thank you, Mary."

"Mary?" Ekko looked to her friend. "Laila, did you change your name again?"

I too turned to my friend. "Laila?"

The woman smiled at me before replying to Ekko, "It's just temporary. He has trouble remembering names."

The blonde woman's brow rose. "One of those, is he? Has he already forgotten my name?" she asked, smiling at me wryly.

"No, _Ekko_ ," I replied. "I'm not that bad." To distract myself from my growing embarrassment, I sipped my drink and found the taste delightful. A mere second later, I felt as if I had stepped outside nude on a warm summer's day, my skin showered by warm sunlight.

Mary touched my arm. "Are you okay? The drink should make you feel relaxed, more comfortable."

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just a new sensation that I'm not accustomed to." Overcome by the feeling, I tugged on my shirt while focusing on the flame of the oil lamp. "I suspect that this won't be my only surprise during my visit."

Ekko swallowed a recent sip from her glass. "Visit? Laila, is he not staying?"

"He has ten days," replied Laila.

Subtly shaking her head, Ekko sloshed the final bit of ambrosia around in her glass. "I told you that it was a bad idea to give him a choice."

"I want him to have the opportunity to decide for himself."

Feeling the warmth of the strawberry ambrosia spread through my body, my attention returned to my friend. "I like Laila for a name, but I wouldn't have thought that to be commonly used back in settler days. Do I call you Laila or Mary?"

Drinking from her glass, Laila paused as the beverage seemed to wash quickly over her, adding color to her cheeks. With a growing smile, she said, "Laila was one of many names I picked when I decided to make this place my home."

"You have many names?"

"Yes," replied Laila.

"What's your true name?" I asked before sipping from my drink. As Laila told me her name in her native Sioux language, the warmth felt from the drink began to spread inward, spilling into my head.

Ekko tossed back the rest of her drink and grimaced approvingly. "That's her old world name. Her real name is a secret."

"What do you mean?" I asked, leaning against the table just to be safe.

"If you decide to stay," replied Ekko, "you will eventually learn your real name, but you only share that name with someone special."

"Oh, I see." Distracted by the ambrosia, I stared into my glass. "Is there alcohol in this drink? I normally detest alcohol; it makes my depression worse."

Laila took my unfinished glass from me. "You should stop. Your reaction is stronger than I thought it would be."

"Okay." I returned to admiring Ekko's cat like eyes. "I like your eyes. Do many here have different eyes?"

"Some," replied Ekko. "We all have something that makes us unique."

My smile grew. "Do you have a tail?"

Laila laughed as one of Ekko's brows slowly arched, revealing her annoyance. "No. I do not have a tail."

"Sorry," I said. "But that would be cool if you did. My mind seems to have already accepted that this place has infinite possibilities...and that anything is possible."

Laila finished her drink and set the glass on the counter. "You're much more open minded than I was when I first arrived."

Ekko began pouring herself a second drink. "But Laila, you were still blinded by vengeance. Remember?"

"Yes," replied Laila, sighing. "I do remember."

As Ekko sipped from her glass, I took notice of their loose fitting clothing that appeared homemade, yet apropos. "I hope I don't wake up tomorrow in a hippie commune only to find out that you slipped me some LSD."

Swallowing her latest sip, Ekko sloppily pointed a finger at me with her glass in hand. "You don't have to worry about that. We don't like hippies. We would never invite one here."

"Why not?"

"The smell."

"I see." Chuckling, I oddly began to feel Ekko's stare as her eyes narrowed below a furled brow.

"What?" I asked, taking a small step back.

"I'm game," replied Ekko. "Here or on the beach?"

"What?"

The corner of Ekko's mouth curled up. "Where do you want to have sex?"

My eyes widened as I turned to Laila.

"Frederick, Ekko is just playing with you." Laila glared at her friend. "That's all."

"No I'm not," retorted Ekko. "He wants to have sex with me."

"No I don't."

Ekko turned to her friend and smiled. "He's cute, but a terrible liar."

"He just got here," said Laila. "Leave him be."

Ekko's focus returned to me as she continued to stare intently, and though I refused to meet her gaze, I somehow felt her stare, physically. Time seemed to stop, making me more uncomfortable. My breath became heavy, forcing me to grip the edges of the table with both hands. With my heart racing, my phallus swelled with blood as sweat beaded across my forehead.

Laila reached out and touched her friend's arm. "Ekko, stop. Please."

As quick as the intense feeling had taken hold of me, the sensation lifted—just in time to prevent further embarrassment.

Laila too sighed with relief. "You can play with him later once he has a better understanding of our world."

With a look of disappointment, Ekko sighed as she turned away to collect the pitcher of strawberry liquid. "Very well, but I was only going to give him an orgasm."

"I know, but that could be unsettling to a new arrival."

Stunned by the inexplicable event, I readjusted my trousers. "Did you do that telepathically?"

"Yes," replied Ekko. "An easy trick that most of the woman here have mastered."

"What about the guys? Can they do that to a woman?"

"No." Ekko began collecting various tumbler glasses, tucking them under one arm. "Some things never change." With the ambrosia in hand and a collection of glasses, Ekko turned to exit when she stopped under the doorway. "Come down to the beach. We're having a party. Everyone who lives on this side of the lake will be there. Good time to meet everyone."

I looked to Laila and received an approving nod. "Okay. I'd like that."

Without further word, Ekko slipped from the room.

Laila came around the table, her concern for me evident.

"I'm okay," I said, adjusting my trousers a second time. "It was just unexpected, that's all. Unexpected seems to describe this place."

"Not exactly, but I'm glad you're not deterred."

"I'm not. And I didn't want to have sex with her. I was just admiring how fit she is. How stylish her clothes—"

"I know. You don't have to defend yourself. Don't feel ashamed of your natural feelings. It's okay here." Laila gestured to the door. "Are you ready to meet my friends?"

I nodded and waited as Laila extinguish the oil lanterns by turning a small dial on their sides. As the lights diminished, I noticed the lack of a refrigerator. "I take it that there is no electricity."

"Correct." Laila reached for my hand and began guiding me through the dark house. "We have no electronic technology of any kind."

"No music?"

"Oh, we have music. Proper music." When we stepped outside onto the porch, my friend stopped me. "Listen."

Faintly from the direction of the beach, I heard singing with accompanying drumming. "Live music?"

"Yes. Is there any other kind?"

Normally fearful of meeting new people, I smiled as Laila led me to the beach where the others had gathered, many of which shared the house. Everyone appeared merry and festive, some dancing around a fire while others sat around in small groups, sharing the tumblers of strawberry juice. One man played guitar while a woman delicately fingered an exquisitely carved flute. Sometimes, one person would sing to a tune, and at other times, all would sing. Their merriment only grew as the glass tumblers of ambrosia continued to be passed amongst the crowd.

Laila, or Mary if you prefer, shared a tumbler of ambrosia with me as we happily sat off to the side and watched the merriment unfold around us. This allowed introductions and eventually, I met everyone. Though I have forgotten most of their names, I would remember each with mental snapshot since they were unique in their own special way.

When one particular song began, Laila scrambled to her feet and asked me to dance. I had never danced in my life, never wanted to, but I happily climbed to my feet and tried my best, free of embarrassment and self-consciousness, the ambrosia—I presumed—suppressing those hindering emotions.

I never did detect any alcohol in the strawberry flavored drink, but the liquid treat had a potency, for my memories of the remainder of the night are not so clear. Perhaps I danced with someone else; perhaps I tried to sing. What I can remember is that I lay upon the sand at one point and stared up at the clearest night sky that I had ever seen. The stars shown so bright and clear that I thought I could reach up and touch them. For the first time in my life, on this beach, I experienced the feeling of belonging.

When I awoke later, I found myself lying on a mattress in the middle of the living room floor of the ramshackle house, surrounded by many of the others from the beach. Sitting up, I found Laila on the mattress next to me, sound asleep and fully clothed. Looking about the room, I found some of the people clothed while others were only covered partially. Ekko slept near the wall fully naked with her slender back facing me.

My eyes struggled with the morning light seeping through thin makeshift curtains constructed out of old fabric draped over rods. Shielding my eyes from the sunlight, I noticed the brilliance of colors throughout the room, even the worn wood furniture appeared rich in tone with the wood grains fine and detailed—liked the heavily edited photographs on the internet. The white cotton sheet that covered my mattress needed a washing, but the white was nothing I had seen before, for the fabric almost shown like porcelain.

With a bladder needing attention, I looked for a way through the maze of mattresses when sound from the kitchen told me that I was not the first to wake, that someone could guide me to a bathroom.

In the kitchen, a man with a lightly weathered face and long curly hair stood before the counter. Atop an oil lantern's exposed flame, a small kettle sat with steam rising from the spout. The man had clearly heard me enter the kitchen and turned to smile at me. "Good morning, Frederick. Did I wake you?"

"No. The light woke me."

"Ah, I see. New arrivals always seem to wake to the morning light." The man gestured to old chair by the kitchen table. "Take a seat. Would you like some honey tea?"

My mouth feeling somewhat dry, I accepted. Squinting at the brilliant landscape outside the kitchen window, I asked, "This may sound stupid, but does the light in your world come from the same sun as mine?"

"Yes. You could say the light is simply more pure than what you are used to."

"Like a clean river versus a murky one?"

"Yes. Something like that." The man seemed to hold back his amusement.

"You can laugh at me if I ask a stupid question. I don't mind."

"I'm not laughing." The man began to pour hot tea into two old mugs, each chipped about the edges. "I'm admiring you. I told Laila that you were different than the others, that you'd come to understand our world quicker than most."

As the man added honey to each mug, I desperately tried to remember his name.

"It's Hiero," said the man.

"What?"

"My name is Hiero." The man slid a mug of tea in front of me.

"Is it?"

"I know my own name." The man smiled as he lifted his mug for a sip, shrugging as he swallowed. "Well, I have over a hundred, but I've been using Hiero for a while."

"No," I said, "I thought Laila used a different name when she introduced you to me last night."

"Oh." The tapped his finger against his mug. "Maybe she used the name her tribe used to call me: Iktomi."

"That's it." Finding my tea too hot to sip, I blew across the surface. "So all the folklore from Native Americans regarding fairi—, regarding mysterious people of the forest is true?"

The man seemed to smile with pride. "Well, they may have inflated some of the tales over time, but yes."

"Where you always Iktomi or did others play the role?"

"There were others in the past. Of recent, it's mostly me"

Wanting to sample my tea, I blew harder across the surface. "Why?"

"Why not? They are a wondrous people. It was just harmless fun." The man chuckled as if remembering a particular event. "Even us spirits of a different sort need to have some fun from time to time."

"It looked as if all of you had plenty of fun last night."

The man raised his mug, pausing to say, "Ah, yes. We do have more fun than most."

When Hiero looked past me, I turned to find Laila rubbing her eyes under the doorway. "Morning," I said to her.

With eyes half shut, she mumbled, "Morning. I was afraid that you wandered off."

"Your souvenir is safe," said Hiero. "Come, my dear. Have some honey tea with us."

I turned to the man. "Souvenir?"

The man began fixing Laila a mug of tea. "Inside joke. Don't be offended."

"I'm not."

Laila leaned forward against the table, the night's festivities still weighing on her. "Iktomi has his own _souvenirs_." She eyed the man with a faint, playful smile. "If I'm not mistaken, the latest one is named Tara?"

Shifting my focus from Laila back to the man, I asked, "How many people have you brought over?"

"Me?" The man weakly attempted to suppress his smile. "I don't keep track of these things. The heart wants what it wants."

My attention turned to Laila as she accepted her tea. "And you?"

"Just one. You are my only friend whom I've brought over from the old world." Laila sipped her tea, unaffected by the heat. "Hence the joke." She noticed my full mug. "Don't you like the tea? We can find you something else."

"No; I'm sure I'll like it. I just need to wait for it to cool."

Laila took my mug and blew gently over the surface before sliding it back to me. "Now, try it."

Lifting the mug close to my lips, I could tell that it had cooled significantly. I sipped, finding the taste pleasing. "Thank you." Wrapping my fingers around the warm mug, I gazed with wonderment at her and asked, "Magic?"

"Simple science."

"Can I learn it?"

"Yes." Laila and Hiero exchanged looks. "If you decide to stay."

Sensing their quiet communication, I asked openly to both, "Will you really let me leave if I choose not to stay."

The man nodded. "Of course you can leave."

"Are you not afraid of me exposing this world?"

Hiero set his finished mug down on the table. "It is impossible for them to travel here without us to guide them, and what would you say? Who would you tell?"

Considering his point, my brow furled with the thought. "True. I'd only get myself admitted into the hospital...again."

Raising a finger in the air, Hiero announced, "We should make pledges." The man crossed the kitchen to open a high cabinet, from which he removed a small glass bottle, along with some small objects that easily fitted in the cup of his hand. He returned to the table to reveal three small thimble-sized glasses that he set carefully upon the table. Pulling the stopper from the bottle, he filled each tiny glass with a spit of yellow liquid.

Laila took one of the tiny glasses and waited as Hiero and I to collect ours. Lifting her glass, she said, "By this drink, I promise to return you, if you should want me to, to your home at the earliest convenience. If I should fail, may I lie down dead." She tipped back her glass, blinked repeatedly, and burped—louder than I would expect.

Hiero raised his glass. "By this drink, I promise to be of any help possible, to answer every question, to try to find the answer if I should not know, to make sure you return safely to your world if you so choose." The man tipped back his glass, blinked repeatedly, and burped with ferocity.

When I stared into the yellow liquid, I could sense that the drink was more than special: it was...binding. My gazed drifted between the other two until I raised my glass. "By this drink, I promise to be attentive of all that I will be shown, appreciative of your kindness, and," I turned to Laila, "to be the best friend possible." When I glanced at Hiero, I received an approving nod. I tossed back the liquid to find the substance sweet like honey with a peppermint aftertaste. Almost immediately, the liquid queerly forced me to belch. I set the tiny glass on the table, feeling extremely refreshed.

Also appearing satisfied, Laila passed her tiny glass back to Hiero. She lifted her mug of tea and asked before taking a sip, "So, what do you want to do on your first day? Here, no idea is too small."

Without hesitance, I asked, "Where's the bathroom?"


	7. Thoughts

**07 Thoughts**

When Laila asked what I wanted to do for my first day, I had already decided the night before at the bonfire: I needed to experience the lake under the sunlight.

When we stepped outside, my eyes strained from the brilliant luminance of the landscape. Though the light did not hurt my eyes, I had to seek shelter and began stumbling for the nearest shade tree.

Laila came to my side, laying her hand upon my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"The light seems so bright." I covered my eyes with one hand and peered through my fingers at the lake.

"The sunlight isn't actually brighter; our world is...cleaner, purer."

Once I comprehended Laila's words, I lowered my hand, for my brain seemed to accept the new environment. I inhaled deeply and thought that air to be more invigorating than the pine scented air of northern Minnesota. Gazing at the shade tree and its leaves, I could sense the difference in this land by how everything appeared newer, crisper. This made me want to see the lake even more as I stepped into the light—forcing myself to adjust, squinting with my hand cupped over my brow.

Reaching the water's edge, I lowered my hand and gazed with awe at the clarity of the water. Kneeling down, I place a hand into the lake to find it cool and soothing, as if purifying my skin.

Laila kneeled beside me. "Do you want to bathe?"

"Here?"

"Yes. We all bathe in the lake. I'll leave if you want privacy."

I sniffed my shirt. "Am I bad?"

"No." Laila casually gestured to the water. "You can also drink directly from the lake. The lake purifies itself, so you need not worry about our bathing."

I scooped up a handful of water and sipped it, finding the taste extremely satisfying. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," repeated Laila, nearly breaking out in laughter

"Do you swim for fun in this lake?"

"Yes of course."

"Do you have winter? Do you ice skate on this lake?"

Laila shook her head. "We don't have seasons exactly. It's always summer around the lake."

"Oh." I began to think of Minnesota winters.

"We can visit the seasons if you like. We even have snow." Laila pointed to low mountains in the distance directly behind the house. "Since we come from Minnesota, I suspected that you'd miss the snow. It is a peaceful place to visit and doesn't take long to get there. We can also stop and visit some of our gardens along the way."

"Gardens?"

"Yes." Laila paused to splash her face with lake water, lifting her face to the sun as she stood. "Since we only eat fruits and nuts, we grow our own food in small gardens scattered about."

"No hamburgers?" I asked, rising to my feet.

"No." Laila whistled in the direction of the house.

"Cheese?"

"We have no cows. Farm animals have ever been brought here since we never had the need."

"How about goats for milk and cheese?"

"Nope."

Emerging from the shadows of the stables, the majestic white horse stepped in our direction.

I splashed my face again with water and stood. "Where do you get your clothes?"

"We steal them from the old world." Pausing to look at her own clothes, Laila shrugged as she lightly tugged on her shirt for presentation. "Well, we take most clothing for the fabric that we reuse in our own designs. Some like to use fabric for creative expression."

"I see. I take it that most of you are fans of the sixties."

"What are the sixties?"

"The nineteen sixties." When Laila's confused look failed to lift, I said, "It was a time in the old world when the clothing looked similar to what I see here."

"Oh." When the white horse stopped before Laila, she reached up and stroked the long nose. She gazed into the horse's eye and asked the creature, "My friend, would you mind taking us to the valley so we may experience the snow?"

The horse promptly bobbed its head.

"Thank you," said Laila. Without hesitation, she swung herself onto the horse's back with such ease that her body appeared to defy gravity.

When I offered Laila my hand, I was again surprised by her strength as she swung me up behind her. "If I stay here, will I become strong like you?"

"If you eat your fruits and nuts like a good boy." Laila lightly rubbed the horse's neck and the creature turned for the hills in the distance.

Midway, we stopped at a large strawberry patch where I met those tending the crop. Not only were the berries the most delicious I had ever sampled, but the beautiful rows of fruit left me in awe, for these gardeners had not formed straight lines; the rows swirled into beautiful patterns of living art.

I watched as one man whispered into the air, which in turn, caused all the swarming bees to take flight and hover overhead so that the man could untangle the plants for optimum growth. As he worked, many of the bees landed about his head and shoulders to wait patiently for the tending to be completed. Once done, the man sat back and watched the bees return to their pollinating.

After a hearty lunch of nuts and strawberries, we continued on our way. As we rode away from the impressive garden, I noticed movement at the base of a tree. A man and a woman had removed their clothes and were fornicating vigorously under the shade of the tree, in view of all those interested. As we rode past, I felt ashamed when the woman opened her eyes to catch me staring. She winked before cordially waving to me.

Laila peered over her shoulder and laughed at my reaction. "Don't stare too long or they may ask you to join in."

Snapping my head away, I could tell that my face had already begun to flush. "Um, what are they doing?"

"I'd say they're having a good time."

"I know that, but won't they get arrested?"

"By who?"

Still thinking old world, I huffed at my ignorance. "There is no law enforcement, is there?"

"Of course not."

"Open acts of love are not discouraged?"

"Love?"

I frowned. "Okay, open acts of pleasure."

"Certainly not. Even before Iktomi brought me to this world, I never understood you Europeans. You openly embrace violence, but shun sex. Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"Where the Sioux this open, sexually?"

"No, but we were never as uptight as you lot. When I was still a child, the leader of my tribe took time to study the settlers and their morals. He said to us that he would not be surprised if they started walking backwards. The settler's tools were advanced, but their ideas were not."

Glancing back at the couple entertaining themselves, I smiled; however, a new thought came to mind. "Where are the children?"

"We are the children, you and me."

The words quickly registered with me. "Is this why some of you come to the old world?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"So people here can grow old and die?"

Her smile fading, Laila glanced back at me. "Everyone dies, even our universe. We all complete the circle of life in our own way. That being said; we here do live much longer than most could imagine."

With a growing understanding of this world, I sat quietly behind my friend, contemplating the morning discoveries. Eventually the trail before us began to darken as a valley rose around us. Above, hovering clouds blocked out the sun as they shifted into different shapes, slowly swirling over the valley that we had entered. The air cooled as the landscape continued to change, the deciduous trees replaced by various pines. Ahead, the first signs of snow lay before us.

I inhaled the cool pine scent. "We must have had a long hot summer in Minnesota if I'm enjoying the cold this much."

With goose bumps forming on her arms, Laila glanced over her shoulder at me. "I can tell from your smile."

"Does the sun ever shine here?"

"Sometimes. The clouds that help cool this valley occasionally break for a few minutes before reforming."

As the horse exited a bend in the trail, a small log cabin atop a hill came into view. Appearing abandoned at first, a faint light from an oil lantern could be seen through a window as we neared. The door opened, and a tall, slender male with long blond hair exited. The man wore a simple grey cotton shirt and blue shorts.

He met us yards from the door and rubbed the horse's nose in greeting before looking up at us. "Laila, how nice to see you."

"Good to see you too, Silkie." She nodded in my direction and said, "This is Frederick."

"I'm new," I said.

Silkie chuckled. "I can tell."

From atop the horse, I stared down at the man's bare feet in the snow. "Aren't you cold?"

"No. It's quite refreshing."

Laila gestured me to slide off the horse, offering me her arm in assistance. "Frederick comes from the same lands as me. He likes winter."

"Ah, I see." Silkie wiggled his feet, letting the snow fill in between his toes. "Give it a try; you might like it."

I reached down and gathered a handful of snow. Initially, it felt like snow, but as the frozen substance melted in my hand, the water felt different, refreshing like the lake. I quickly pulled off my shoes and socks and stood in the white powder. The initial shock quickened my pulse, but my skin soon adjusted as the sensation turned pleasurable. _Amazing,_ I thought. _But how do they not get frostbite?_

"We don't," said Silkie. "None of us have ever had frostbite."

I looked up at the man. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

Biting his lip, the man looked up briefly at Laila before shrugging his reply.

Smiling, Laila slid off the horse, waiting for me to figure it out.

 _You can hear my thoughts?_ I thought.

"Yes _,_ " she replied.

I turned to Silkie. _Can I hear your thoughts?_

"No," he replied. "It's a learned skill."

 _What if I don't want my thoughts known?_

Laila stepped towards me, gauging my reaction. "Once you learn this, your thoughts will be private by default. Only certain people will be able to hear then, and only when you want them to."

"Like swimming," said Silkie. "It's a skill you learn that becomes natural."

I stared at the ground, for I found this latest discovering slightly unnerving. _Can I stop thinking?_

Laila giggled. "Don't worry. You may be an open book right now, but no one is intruding on purpose. No one here would do that."

Gazing off into the distance, my memories flashed before me as I recalled my introduction to the cat-eyed woman in the kitchen. I turned to Laila. _Is that how that woman...Ekko knew that I...I found her attractive?_

"Yes." Laila looked deep into my eyes. "Are you going to be okay?"

 _Yes. I hope neither you were offended last night. It was just random guy thoughts._

"We were not offended."

 _Good._ Nervously, I wiggled my toes in the snow. _What is it like to hear someone's thoughts?_

Silkie pointed to his head. "They sound just like they normally would since you have their voice imprint in your memory. When you listen to a stranger, your brain makes a guess at what they might sound like until you actually hear their voice."

 _This is fascinating._ I stared at the ground, listening for the thoughts from the other two.

Laila exchanged a look with Silkie. "Perhaps we shouldn't have shared this with him so soon."

Silkie simply shrugged. "He has clearly moved past denial. Perhaps he's a quick learner.

"He is."

 _Why can't I hear them?_

Laila lightly tapped my shoulder. "Fredrick, you should use your voice. You won't start hearing other people's thoughts for a while."

I looked to her and smiled. _I like this. I've never liked my voice...or speaking. Actual words feel weighed down when you are different like me._

"I know. That is what makes you, and your daughter, special."

 _Special? I'd rather be normal. I wish my daughter was normal._

Laila gave me a stern look. "We won't be listening for your thoughts anymore. If you want to communicate with us, you'll have to use your voice."

Having let my emotions get the best of me, I began to feel embarrassed. "Sorry," I said, inhaling the soothing, crisp air. Being Minnesotan, I then notice the lack of a chimney on the cabin. "No fireplace?"

"No," replied Silkie. "We don't succumb to the cold; besides, those of us that come here for snow and solitude, usually bring a friend."

I smiled at his comment. "It's not solitude if you bring a friend."

"It is for us," he retorted. "Don't get me wrong; I enjoy sharing a home with many, but sometimes..."

Noticeably, Laila stared intently at the cabin before asking, "Who did you come up here with?"

Silkie's smile stretched to his ears.

"Tara," said Laila, answering her own question. "You are a patient man; are you not."

The door to the cabin opened and a young woman exited. She immediately spotted us and approached, crossing her arms in front of her for warmth.

Noticing her simple shoes, and how she moved, I immediately thought this young woman to be different from the others.

As she stood next Silkie, her focus remained on me. "New arrival?"

"Yes. I'm Frederick."

"Tara."

"He arrived yesterday," said Laila, "He has ten days with us to decide."

"That will be one year in his time; correct?" asked Tara.

Laila looked at me for a moment before answering her friend. "Yes. That is what our star charts forecast."

Tara smiled. "So you are giving him a choice. Good. I told Hiero that we should always let them have a choice."

Noticing other slight differences in the young woman's mannerisms, I asked, "Are you new too?"

"Yes. Well, considering."

"Weren't you given a choice?"

Tara shrugged. "I was, but my friend was a bit more impulsive and didn't take into account the time I would lose when I went home. I lost twenty years."

"Twenty years? Jeez." I tucked my hands into my pockets. "What did your family thing?"

"It was hard for them. I hadn't aged, so they thought I had a genetic defect that altered my aging, or that I was a fraud."

"But you came back here. Why?"

"Had to." Tara took Silkie by the arm. "These people became my friends. No..." The woman paused and said with growing emotion, "They became my family. This world became my home."

Sensing the truth in her words, I smiled. "Can you hear thoughts?"

"Yes. I recently learned this skill." With a confused look, Tara turned to Laila.

"He's a fast learner," replied Laila

"I see." Tara shivered as she tucked her hands tighter under her arms. "It's starting to cool. Come; stay the night with us."

Not wanting to intrude, I shook my head. "That's okay; I think we're going to return to the lake."

Silkie's attention oddly remained on me. "You can sleep between us," he said. "We'll keep you warm."

Exhaling calmly, I shrugged awkwardly before replying, "Thanks again, but I want to keep exploring."

"I hope I didn't offend you?" asked Silkie. "I meant no harm."

"No harm. I'm just not into that."

Silkie's smile twisted as his tone remained playful. "Not yet anyway."

Laila gestured to the horse. "Maybe we should start heading back."

Feeling the bitter cold in my feet, I nodded and began donning my shoes, shoving my socks into my pockets. "Yes. I am getting cold."

"We should be home by dark." Laila swiftly swung herself upon the horse before pulling me up behind her. She then smiled warmly at her friends. "You two come visit us when you return."

Silkie wrapped his arm around Tara, who replied, "We will."

When the horse began to turn away, I could still feel the man's hungry stare, as if he expected to me to change my mind. As I forced a smile, I began to worry that my thoughts would be interpreted as insulting, so I futilely attempted to think of something else.

As we exited the valley of snow, Laila broke the silence. "Please don't take offense at Silkie's advances."

"I didn't. He's not the first man to flirt with me.

"Have you ever had a relationship with a man?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite. I'd think I'd remember if I did." Aimlessly staring into the forest, I sighed. "I'd probably be less depressed if I were attracted to men. They have easily shown more interest in me than women. I don't know why." After some silence, a nagging thought needed to be brought forth. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Before we met on the hospital rooftop, did you ever listen to my thoughts?"

After a long pause, Laila answered, "Yes."

"When? Where?" When she failed to answer, I peered over her shoulder. "Mary, I'm glad you heard my thoughts. We would not have become friends had you not listened and stopped me."

Turning her head in my direction, she said, "You called me Mary."

"You let me choose didn't you? You saved my life, you've become a trusted friend, and until I learn your real name, you will be my Mary."

With a faint smile, Mary looked forward and began telling her story. "I listened to your thoughts the weekend before we first spoke. I was lurking in the woods, hoping that you would be mountain biking, as you normally would on the weekend. I had been visiting Minnesota for a couple months at that point and often spotted you. When you rode by that weekend, I immediately knew that something was wrong."

"I don't recall thinking about jumping off the roof. How did you know?"

"When I saw you, you weren't smiling. You always smile in the forest. And when I heard your thoughts, they were dark. You may not remember, but they were."

With growing confidence that I would not fall off the horse, I sat back in reflection. "Were they dark?"

"Yes. Since you wear your emotions, I made it easier to read you. I had ventured twice into the city, and you never once smiled when I observed you."

"There is nothing worth smiling about in the city."

"That's why I had planned to make first contact with you in the forest. However, you were clearly distressed that weekend, so I followed you down to the reservoir dam where you like to cool off and think. This is when I listened to your thoughts, and I knew I should stay close."

As we gently bobbed together atop the horse, I found myself wanting to slide my arms around Mary's waist, but I held back, for I assumed my embrace would be rejected like my kisses. Wondering if she was currently reading my thoughts, I began thinking more open, thinking aloud. "Why didn't you approach me sooner, before my depression?"

"I wanted to, but the universe had other plans. You were much younger the first time I spotted you biking through the woods. This was during my first trip back after I had assimilated to this world. I had been in Minnesota for almost two years, coming to terms with my anger, observing the changes, trying to find my distant relations. Though our encounter was brief and only known to me, I nonetheless became intrigued by you and your passion for the forest. When I returned months later for my second visit, years had passed in your world, and you were now happily married. So, I kept my distance."

"How can you keep track of time between our worlds?"

"It's not hard. Think of a spinning wheel. The inside is moving at what appears to be a slower speed than the edge, but they complete the circle in the same amount of time."

"But they _are_ moving at the same speed; it's the distance traveled that's different."

"Correct. The distance here converts into time, so our visits are much longer in the old world compared to our brief absences from this one. It was during my third visit—this last one—that I noticed the absence of your wedding ring. From what I learned from your thoughts that day, your separation was recent. You needed to mourn your marriage before I could approach you, so I decided to stay in Minnesota, lingering being less of a consequence for me. I also used this time to bring Hiero to Minnesota to see what he thought. I had never invited anyone to our world and wanted to be certain. He said you were a sound choice and would make a good addition to our family."

"My daughter," I said. "You didn't know about her until I told you."

"This is true."

"You had to have heard me thinking about her. Didn't you?"

"No," replied Mary. "I only intrude a person's thoughts when necessary. Plus, it isn't all that easy to do. One needs to be relatively close. The little I skimmed from your thoughts was never about your daughter."

I began to gnaw my lip, thinking of my trips to the forest.

"You bike in Tamarac to get away from the city and relax; don't you? Being a parent is taxing, and being a parent of a child with a severe speech delay must be difficult."

"Yes, it was. It is."

"Well, the woods were your sanctuary. It allowed you to clear you thoughts and become one with nature. I'm not surprised that I missed learning about your daughter."

"You observed me off and on over two decades," I said, my confusion apparent. "But for you it was only..."

"I was only absent from this land for a few months, but in your world, I spent a couple years traveling and learning." Sensing my frustration, Mary patted my leg in support. "Confusing, I know." After a notable pause that allowed me to sort my thoughts, she continued, "After receiving Hiero's encouragement, I simply had to wait for the right time when the door between our worlds would open. The gateway had to open twice in close succession so that you would have opportunity to decide."

"Can't I go home at any time?"

"No. With the way time behaves between our worlds, for the one day the door is open here, the door remains open on your side for a little over a month."

"Enough time for the bluebells to bloom."

"Yes," said Mary.

As we continued towards the lake, my thoughts drifted to my family. "Too bad you didn't approach me before my marriage. It would have saved—"

"Don't," said Mary. "Your daughter is wonderful. The world is lucky to have her in it. I won't have you thinking any other way."

"Okay." I inhaled deeply, drawing out my breath. "I just hope she's happy."

"Does her mother love and care for her?"

"Yes," I replied. "Greatly."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

"You may be right." And for the remainder of the ride, I could do nothing more but think of my daughter, and hope.


	8. The Willow Tree

**08 The Willow Tree**

After we brushed down the horse and thanked him for the transportation, we exited the stables to find a slender man sitting alone on the porch. With short-cropped hair, he appeared middle aged with slightly worn features, his manner relaxed and thoughtful. His clothing appeared more modern, from the old world, but the fabric was beginning to show signs of fraying.

He spotted us and smiled. "Hey there. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

"Graham, so good to see you again." Mary stopped by his chair and began introductions. "This is Graham. He's our newest addition, after Tara. He has quickly become our resident storyteller. Graham, this is Frederick, my guest."

The man held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

I shook his hand. "Likewise. Storyteller?"

The man shrugged. "I use to write books in the old world. In this one, I craft the stories so that I can share them around beach campfires, like the ancients once did it."

"What kind of stories?" I asked.

"It varies, but mostly fantasies."

"Those are my favorite. I look forward to hearing them."

Mary gestured for me to sit next to Graham in one of the empty chairs on the porch. "I'll get us something for dinner. We can eat out here."

"Okay." I eased into the old wooden chair that creaked loudly as I sat into it.

Noticing an empty bowl next to Graham, Mary collected it from a small side table beside his chair. "Can I get you anything as long as I'm heading to the kitchen?"

"I could do with another serving of strawberries."

"Done," said Mary. "Sauce?"

"Of course," he replied. When Mary disappeared inside, Graham glanced out at the encroaching darkness and sighed.

"Don't really like strawberries?" I asked.

"Oh, no. I love them. The food here is delightful, but I could do with a nice hearty steak, or even a block of cheese. Sure, my body is adjusting, and I won't miss these delicacies for much longer, but..."

I smiled at his confession. "The prospect of never having a hamburger or pizza again horrifies me."

The man watched me fiddle with my creaky chair. "Staying here, you haven't decided yet?"

"Um...no. I want to experience the ten days before making a formal decision."

The man's brow narrowed as he continued to watch me fidget in my chair. "But you have decided. What's pulling you back?"

"My daughter."

Glancing briefly over his shoulder, Graham asked. "But your daughter doesn't live with you?"

"That is correct. How did you know?"

"Your friend would never hurt an innocent. She would never separate you two if you were not already parted. She's a precise and careful woman."

"She does seem extremely wise. So does everyone here." I gazed down at the lake, admiring the moon's reflection. "Is this heaven?"

"No, but a paradise, of sorts"

"Everyone seems so happy and gets along."

The man looked at me with a knowing grin. "You've just arrived. I'm sure you will see the anger, perhaps a fight or two before you go."

"So there is a dark side to this world."

"There is dark side to every world. You can't have happiness if you don't know pain, now can you?"

"I suppose. Mary seems to have a temper," I said, glancing at the door. "Have you ever seen her explode in anger?"

Graham's brow knitted with thought. After a few seconds, he leaned towards me and asked, "Who's Mary?"

"Laila."

"Ah. Yes. Laila is a spirited soul. Quite good with a knife."

"She's been in a knife fight? Here?"

The man nodded. "Yes. I don't remember what it was about, but I believe the guy had it coming."

"A man? Did she kill him?"

"Yes. Poor soul didn't stand a chance."

Mary appeared in the doorway, holding a food tray. "He's fine." Giving Graham a stern—yet friendly—look, she proceeded to set down the tray on the small side table.

When Graham reached for his bowl of strawberries, he began saying, "Sure, he's fine now, but—"

"Shh! Frederick doesn't need to know all this." Mary took a bowl and offered it to me. "The man is alive and well."

Accepting the bowl from Mary, I nervously lifted the spoon out of a mixture of various berries. "So, you didn't actually kill him?"

"It was more ceremony than anything. If you must know, I will tell you all later."

Feeling the intensity of her stare, I looked to Graham to receive a faint nod, confirming that I should let the matter drop, which I happily did. I sampled a strawberry and froze in delight as my taste buds swirled from the wonderful sensation. Investigating my bowl, I noticed glistening syrup that had been sprinkled over the berries. Licking the syrup off my spoon, I found the substance flavorless.

Mary lifted a blueberry with her spoon and said, "It only works when you sample it with fruit. The two work together to create what you taste and feel."

"Feel?" Before the word finished rolling off my tongue, calming warmth began to fill my head. "Oh, I see."

Graham sampled from his bowl. "Sublime, is it not?"

"Is it an opioid?" I asked.

Mary sneered at me. "Please. We don't use the poppy. The liquid unleashes the gift of the sun captured within the berries. That's all."

Perplexed by her explanation, I turned to Graham.

He smiled and said, "It's true. You'll understand in time."

I sampled another berry and became lost in the joyous flavor. I had no doubts that I would learn much from these people and from this land if…if...

And over the next nine days, I did learn more than I could ever imagine. I experienced the time berries; I saw someone levitate; I even witnessed someone pass through a solid wall. Even after seeing so many amazing events—things that my mind could not comprehend, I knew well enough that I had only sampled a thimble full of knowledge from the ocean of wonder before me.

What I enjoyed most was my time with Mary. We always had our meals outside, and no matter where we ate, the surroundings were tranquil and awe inspiring, whether it be at the shoreline of the lake, the hills overlooking the vineyard, or our second trip to the valley of snow. I also aided her with chores, tending to various gardens and assisting in the preparation of meals.

Funny enough, these people had never stolen a nutcracker from the old world, which meant that I had to leave the nut cracking to Mary, for it took considerable strength to crack these hearty specimens open. Needless to say, my feeble attempts with a rock only resulted in a crushed thumb.

The most memorable moment happened next to a special stream where Mary had been showing me the special properties of the water. Unexpectedly, I found myself staring at a dazzling yellow wildflower, and for the first time, I did not feel the pull of the old world. Just for a moment, I stopped worrying about my daughter. I desperately wanted to pick that wildflower and put in Mary's hair. When I reached for the flower, my hand froze as the stem wavered between my fingers. I withdrew my hand.

"Are you okay?" asked Mary.

"Yes," I replied. "I wanted to pick that flower but felt compelled to stop."

"Why?" Mary slid next to me to look closer at the plant.

"In this world, we don't pick flowers unless it is needed." I turned to Mary. "This is how it is here; isn't it?"

"Yes. Did someone tell you this?"

"No," I said, glancing again at the flower. "I just knew."

"What were you going to do with it?" asked Mary.

"Put it in your hair and ask if I could kiss you. Would you have minded me picking that flower for you?"

"I'd be okay with it, either way."

Biting my lip, I swallowed up a bit of courage and asked, "Then may I kiss you?"

Mary withdrew slightly. "No. We both know that it would not be appropriate." Diverting her gaze, she cleared her throat and stood. "We should head back. They are preparing a special party for you tonight on the beach. Graham is going to share a new story." She slowly turned and began walking away, leaving me to lick my wounds.

A party it was, for the latest harvest of fruits and nuts gave much to celebrate, and plenty to enjoy. The bonfire too was exorbitant compared to others I witnessed. The flames danced high above the pile of fallen branches, the fire's intensity matching the merry expressions of my new friends. I began gorging myself on melons and salted nuts, all the while drowning my heart in white wine. And once everyone settled down with their bowls of food, Graham told the most wonderful tale about a witch that had become a dark sister to an unexpected woman. Everyone delighted in the story, consuming more food and wine as the tale unfolded.

Naively, I expected things would wind down after the story, but they tossed more fallen branches onto the bonfire as acoustic instruments brought the people to their feet. With racing hearts and sweaty skin, they danced feverishly, and it was not long until pairs of people began to brake off to have sex in the shadows, even in the lake at the water's edge, wherever their lust guided them. Finding their immodesty unnerving, I looked for Mary and found her sitting against a fallen log, talking to Hiero as they shared a rolled cigarette. The two apparently took no notice of the frenzied emotions unfolding around them.

Not wanting to intrude on their conversation, I debated returning to the house when I spotted one couple kissing wildly as they stumbled towards the lake. The intoxicated woman fell down, but instead of staggering to her feet, she simply rolled onto all fours and pulled up her thin dress to present herself to her friend, who proceeded to mounted her.

Not used to their more primal behavior, I felt more out of place than normal. Sheepishly, I glanced at fornicating couple before turning my back to the spectacle. Hearing laughter, I soon found Graham lying on his back, watching me, amused by my nervous conduct.

Graham waved me to come closer. When I approached, he said, "Why don't you find Laila and have some fun?"

"I don't think she's interested in me. Maybe I'll go back to the house and retire for the night."

"I doubt you'll find much solitude anywhere around here," said Graham. "Something is in the air tonight."

"Why aren't you hooking up with someone?" I asked

The man shrugged. "I may. I may not. The night is young."

Seeing how the man gazed up enthusiastically at the night's sky, I laid onto my back next to him to do the same. I gawked at the brilliance of the stars and became amazed by the night sky. "The stars are brighter here; aren't they?"

"Yes. Unlike the old world, the sky is free of pollution. Sometimes I'll stare at them until dawn."

Never good at spotting constellations, I failed to find the simplest one. "I cannot find the big dipper. Are these the same stars?"

"They are. Their light has less defection in our sky. In the old world, you see it as if looking at an object lying on the bottom of a swimming pool." Graham pointed to a certain area. "The big dipper is over there."

Letting my mind sort out the minor differences, I eventually detected the constellation and what I assumed to be the North Star.

"Your ten days are almost up, and you still haven't decided; have you?" asked Graham.

I turned my head to see the man still focused on the night's sky. "I've got responsibilities," I replied.

"Your daughter?"

"Yes. Her mother refuses to work, so I'm their only source of income."

"But they don't live with you?"

I returned my gaze skyward. "No. Her mother took her to the other side of the world to her native country. It's very likely that I will never see them again."

"Are they alone?"

"No. They are living with my ex's family."

The man sat up. "Life is often a major disappointment, but it carries on, and so will your daughter. Don't beat yourself up."

"She's different like me, but even worse. She cannot talk and will always need assistance."

As the man stared at me, his jaw slowly shifted from side to side until he said, "I see it now. It explains everything."

Having become accustomed to their wisdom—not to mention a little annoyed, I frowned and asked, "Explains what?"

"Why you are sitting over here and not sitting over there next to Laila."

I glanced across the beach to see Mary puffing on the rolled up cigarette. "We're just friends."

"Have you tried?"

"Yes. She has rejected me each time."

Graham smirked. "That's because you haven't decide. Laila is more conscious than most. She probably wants your decision unclouded by lust. You need to hurry up and decide."

"I have to decide by morning," I said.

"Then you don't have time to spare. Find someone and clear your thoughts. I think Ekko is somewhere nearby."

"I don't want to be with Ekko."

The man guffawed. "Liar."

"I'd rather be with..." Distracted by the lustful sounds in the shadows, my frustrations began to a surface. With a clenched jaw, I sat up. "I don't want to hurt her."

"She won't mind," said Graham. "If it helps you clear your thoughts, to make a conscious decision, she'd be okay with it."

"I don't believe you." Unable to tolerate the frivolity around me, I shook my head before rising to my feet with growing agitation. "Excuse me; I need retire for the night. I need quiet."

Graham gestured to the house. "I wouldn't retire there. I saw a few people already head that way."

I sighed so heavy that a growl emanated from deep within my throat.

Graham pointed to the moon hovering above the horizon, a hill just beneath it. "If you want solitude, I would recommend going up there to sit under the whispering willow. It's hard to spot from here, but if you walk towards the moon, you'll find the willow just over the crest. Just be sure to stop at the tree; otherwise, you may find yourself actually on the moon. One of us will have to go up there to bring you back. It's not an easy task, fetching someone from the moon."

I was about to retort with a snide comment, but hesitated once I realized he was not joking. "Thank you. I'll be sure to stop at the willow."

"Good." The man extended his hand to me. "If you decide not to say, I'd just like to say that it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Likewise," I said, shaking his hand. "Thank you for tonight's story."

"Thank you for listening." The man gestured towards the hill as he laid down for more stargazing. "And do remember to stop at the tree."

"I'll try," I said with a smile.

Without hesitation, I walked in the direction of the moon. As I ascended the hill, the broad canopy of the willow tree began to appear before a silhouette of lunar light. The brilliant white face of the lunar landscape filled the sky as surface details I had only seen in photographs became clearer. Staggering through the tall wild prairie grass, my attention shifted back and forth between the tree and the moon as I continued up the hill. Fueled by the exuberant energy brought forth by all the beach frivolity, I continued climbing upward when the tree began to fall to the wayside, into my peripheral vision.

Hearing Graham's voice in my head, he said, _Stop!_

I stopped to find myself floating a couple feet off the ground. Before I could question what was happening, I tumbled forward, crashing onto my stomach amongst the wild grass. I scrambled to my feet and scanned the hill to discover that I was alone. I smiled and thought, _Thank you again, Graham._

 _Your welcome_ , he said with resounding clarity.

 _I'm not supposed to hear anyone. Mary said that it was too soon for me to hear thoughts._

 _Your more open minded than most,_ said Graham. _It allowed me to kick down the door, as one might put it._

Stepping before the tree, I glanced down at the beach, unable to find Graham on the sand _. Can everyone do this, project thoughts?_

 _No._

 _Why can you?_

 _I'm a storyteller,_ he replied. _We are not restricted by old world reality._

I smiled. _Where are you? Mary said that you have to be close to hear thoughts. I assume projecting thoughts is the same._

 _You are correct,_ he replied, _but your eyes are not capable of seeing me in my current state._

 _But where do I find you should I want to visit. I would enjoy discussing stories with you._

 _That's easy; all you have to do is pick up a book and there I'll be, with all the other storytellers,_ said Graham, _but you already knew that; didn't you?_

 _Yes._

 _Well then, I should go. You have some thinking to do._

 _Wait,_ I said. _Do you have any final advice?_

 _Yes,_ said Graham. _Cherish it all. Just cherish it all._

 _I will. I promise._ My eyes turned skyward, and I said, _You truly have inspired me. Thank you._

As a breeze bristled in my ears, the dull silence in my head told me that he had gone.

Slowly, I turned to inspect the willow tree. Above me, the naturally drooping canopy swayed in light winds. I ran my fingers over the roughly grooved bark as air swirled around my head, and the leaves in the drooping branches fluttered with the sound of delicate wind chimes. The calming effect of natured began to sooth me, and I soon found a comfortable place to sit against the trunk. Below, the faint glow of the beach bonfire marked the ceasing of festivities as the last of the fallen branches had reduced to embers. With remarkable clarity, the moonlight illuminated the landscape with almost daylight quality. On the otherwise calm lake, faint patches of ripples sprouted and faded on the mirror like surface.

After several minutes of seclusion, I began to reminisce my ten days in this most remarkable world. The gratitude I felt for these people reminded me of the time I brought my mute six-year-old daughter to the playground. Upon seeing the park, she reached for my hand and kissed it, her way of showing her appreciation. Recalling her joy, my shoulders slumped forward as my chest tightened from the immeasurable emotions that bore down on me. I lifted face to the night's sky in search of divine guidance, and to my surprise, it was the swaying willow tree who replied.

With growing intuition, I ran my fingers over the bark and whispered, "Sing for me."

From all directions, the air surged up the hill as if sky had taken a deep breath. This caused a tremendous shift in the winds, and the willow's branches stretched and groaned overhead in a turbulent dance. Contained within the pleasant cacophony of wind gusts and bristling leaves, I heard the tree sing a ballad to me. The song washed over me, nursing my mental wounds, mending my tattered nerves. As my thoughts became clearer, I began to weep with the knowledge that I could not remain in this most glorious of places.


	9. Bluebells

**09 Bluebells**

In the early morning darkness, I watched the glow of Mary's rolled cigarette brighten and dim as she paced in front of the ramshackle house. Jamming my hands into my pockets to stop fidgeting, I waited for Hiero to come out of the stables with the magnificent white horse. Though Mary had never told me directly, I could sense her growing disappointment in my desire to return to my old life, occasionally catching her he angry stare in the heightened glow of her cigarette.

Hiero emerged from the stables with the horse close behind. The man gestured over his shoulder. "He's not excited about leaving so early either, but he's ready to take you home."

"Tell him thank you for me," I said.

"You just did," replied Hiero. "Besides, he knew you would not be staying with us."

"Really?" In the predawn darkness, I looked into the horse's eye, which seemed to reflect the moonlight with a faint glow. "How?" I asked.

Hiero moved to the beast and began straightening a simple riding blanket that had been laid over the animal's back. "He thought you were the type of fellow that needed to be 100% sure before doing anything."

I more confidently approached the horse and stroked its long nose. "Ya, that sounds about right." I glanced briefly at Mary and whispered to Hiero. "I want to say goodbye."

"Make it brief, mate," said Hiero in a somber tone. "Be honest and to the point. I've only seen her this upset once before."

Certain that Mary had heard my whispering, I approached with caution, stopping out of arm's reach. "Thank you for showing me your home. I promise to keep it secret."

"Secrecy doesn't matter," she said with a heavy brow. "Your world stopped believing a long time ago. They wouldn't believe you even if you had taken photographs."

"Good point." I nervously gnawed my lip before saying, "I hope you can forgive me for wanting to go back. It would be nice if you could visit me that next time you..."

Mary dropped her cigarette remnant onto the ground and pressed it out. "You don't need my forgiveness. I admire your commitment to your daughter."

"Once I sort things out back home, I'll fly to the Philippines to see how she's progressing. Last I heard, she's saying more words and almost uses them to form sentences."

Mary forced a smile. "I'm sure she'll enjoy seeing you. That will be nice."

"Will you visit me?" When Mary did not answer, I added, "Are we still friends?"

A more natural smile replaced her polite one. She nodded. "Of course we are still friends. I will visit you again."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

The white horse came up alongside of me, and Hiero extended his hand to me. With supernatural strength, he pulled me up behind him. He then gestured to the first signs of light on the horizon and said, "We need to leave now. According to the star charts, we cannot miss this opening."

I gazed down at Mary and gave a simple parting-wave only to see her swallow hard as she turned away with a heavy foot. Whispering, I said to Hiero, "I never wanted to hurt her."

"I know, mate. She knows too." In an ancient language unfamiliar to me, Hiero said something to the horse, and we proceeded to leave the paradise of the lake.

We entered the forest in complete darkness and traveled without incident as the surefooted horse carried us without any guidance. Neither of us talked as we travelled during those early morning hours. And by the time direct sunlight began to break through the trees, I knew from the dull, dry scent that filled my nose that we had returned to my world. Even the rising sun seemed less exuberant, as if looking through a pair of smudged glasses. The one standout was the bluebells now underfoot.

I asked, "These flowers will only appear when the door between worlds opens?"

"Yes," replied Hiero. "They need something from each world to thrive, which causes them to spread quickly.

When the early morning beams of sunlight grazed the vibrant bluebells, the sight triggered a memory, causing me to gasp. "I remember seeing these flowers years ago when looking for new mountain biking trails. I remember the vibrant color, but I was more interested in finding an exciting trail, so I easily forgot."

Hiero made no comment as he unexpectedly asked the horse to turn off the flowered path.

"My car is at the end of the trail," I said. "The flowers should lead us there."

"Do you think your car is still there?"

Remembering Mary's warning, I ask, "A year truly has passed?"

"Yes, my friend." Hiero gestured for the horse to turn left again as we exited the forest onto a gravel road. "If I remember correctly, there is a building up ahead."

Glancing in both directions, I easily recognized the road. "Yes. The refuge headquarters is located about one mile up ahead."

"I'm sure someone there will be able to take you into town."

"My mountain bike," I said with a groan. "I really liked that bike."

"Where did you leave it?"

"In my car. If I had to guess, my car was towed and eventually sold at auction."

"Maybe the person who towed your car has your bicycle."

"Hmm, maybe, but I doubt they would give it back to me without me coughing up some cash. I'll just have to buy a new one." The consequences of my year's absence began to pile up in my head, making me groan louder. "I'll also have to find a new job, replace my car. Shit! My house?"

Hiero turned his head to look at me. "What about your house?"

"I don't know if I still have one. My house payments automatically come out of my bank account. I only had enough money for a few months, maybe five. If I'm lucky, the bank hasn't auctioned off my home."

"If you want, we can turn around and return to the lake?"

"No. I need to see my daughter."

"You know," said Hiero, sounding nonchalantly, "I looked at our star charts and found a door in the Philippines. You could visit her that way."

"Don't these doors only open at set times."

"Yes."

"How long until the next door opens there? In this world's time."

The man paused not wanting to answer. He sighed and said, "Fifteen years."

"I cannot wait that long."

Hiero shrugged. "It's only 4 months in our time."

"Ya, but my daughter will be in her late twenties when I next see her. I just lost another year of her childhood."

Staring off into the forest, Hiero again shrugged at my comment. "Wouldn't you have lost it anyway, living so far apart?"

"There's the internet. We video chat."

"How often do you do this...video chat?"

When I recalled the true number of video chats, I kept the answer to myself.

"I see," said Hiero, failing to sound impartial.

We turned onto a short paved driveway that led to the refuge headquarters. With the sun just above the horizon, we discovered the building vacant of life.

I asked, "What month is it?"

Hiero offered me his hand to assist me off the horse. "August or September. Our star charts are not marked with your months or the year."

As Hiero jumped off the horse, I turned slowly and found the parking lot completely absent of cars. "Must be Sunday."

"Sorry, mate, I cannot take you into town."

"I know. I'm not expecting our magnificent friend to carry me the 20 miles." I walked up to the animal and rubbed his nose out of gratitude. "Someone will drive by. Bird watches come up here all the time on the weekends. I'm sure I can hitch a ride back with one of them."

"Okay." Hiero patted the animal's shoulder, observing my unease. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"Thank you, but I have responsibilities."

"If you are worried about your daughter, she has her mother and her mother's family."

"I still have to provide."

"Yes," said Hiero, "but providing is not being a father."

"I know. I could move to the Philippines to be close to her?"

"You? In that heat?" said Hiero, smirking. "I heard about your two trips to snow valley." Laila said you walked barefoot in the snow during your whole second visit."

"True. I do prefer cold weather."

"Look, I'm just saying that things don't always work out. You are not a bad father because you wife left and took your daughter."

"I'm still responsible." Not able to face the man, I turned my head away as my petting of the horse's nose slowed.

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

I shook head.

"What if I just simply performed a magic spell to make you forget your life so that you'd come back with me?"

I turned to the man. "You can do that?"

"No. Sure would make things much easier if I could; wouldn't it." Hiero reached under his shirt collar and lifted a large gold chain from around his neck. The chain, several inches long, dangled from his two outstretched hands. "Laila wanted me to give this to you."

I accepted the gold chain and found it even heavier than expected. The sun glistened off the surface in a way that only gold can. "This is real gold?"

"Of course. Laila felt bad for disrupting your life, even if it was for just one year. She assumed you'd lose everything since you have no remaining family other than your daughter."

"It depends if the bank also drained my savings to pay my mortgage while I was gone." I weighed the chain in my hands. "How much is this worth?"

"I've never been keen with finances. A few thousand would be my guess. Laila said not to accept anything less than five."

My eyes widened. "Five? Where did you get this?"

"I stole it." The man's chest seemed to swell with pride.

"From who?"

"I don't know."

"Why did you take it?"

"It was shinny. It's one of the many things we mischievous folk do." The man's brow knitted as he eyed me. "You've suddenly full of questions."

"I just don't want to be surprised and end up in jail for receiving stolen property."

"You need not worry, good sir. I know exactly where it comes from and can assure you that no trouble will come from it. I stole it from..." Needing more time than either of us would have anticipated, Hiero scratched his ruffled head as he combed his memories. "If I remember correctly, I took that chain just before the automobile was invented. That was a long time ago in your world, was it not?"

"Yes," I replied with a disapproving smirk. "Still doesn't make it right."

The man snorted as he remounted the white horse. "Nothing is right in this world. I may never fully understand why you returned."

Not wanting to argue anymore, I stared at the chain dangling from my hand.

"If I'm any judge of character, I'd say that you'll going to regret your decision."

"I'm already regretting part of it," I said in a soft tone.

"Really? Which part."

Preferring not to say, I assumed that Hiero was peeking into my mind. "You already know, don't you?"

"You wanted to kiss her?"

"Yes. At least once"

The man presented me a wry smile and said, "Perhaps you already have."

"What?"

Hiero gave a slight bow before whispering to the horse in his ancient tongue, which set the animal in motion.

"What do you mean?" I pressed.

Without answering, the man simply waved to me over his shoulder, and soon, he and the horse disappeared into the forest.

Left to my own devices, I quickly became paralyzed by fear, not from being stranded in a northern Minnesota forest, but out of worry that I had destroyed my life. I needed to know if I still had a home, a career. I needed to know the wellbeing of my daughter and worried that her mother would not let me back into her life.

Despite this burden, I could not stop thinking about Mary and prayed that I had not destroyed our friendship, hoping wholeheartedly that we would meet again.

All my worries resulted in a cold sweat that enveloped my body. Fidgeting, I swatted at the biting insects that had begun to pick up my scent. The insects reminded me of other dangers, which caused me to hang the gold chain around my neck, tucking the shinny jewelry under my shirt out of sight.

After a couple hours of waiting, no visitors had stopped at the refuge headquarters, so I began walking towards the nearest town by county road. Around midday, I hitched a ride with an untalkative farmer who seemed indifferent to my made up story of being stranded by friends.

Dropped off in the town's center, I found myself with only my wallet and car keys, with no easy way to get home. With no childhood acquaintances remaining in my hometown, I strolled to a fast food restaurant to eat an afternoon meal. Here, I learned that both my credit cards had been cancelled. Paying for my meal with cash, I knew well enough that I would need a lot more money for the simple five-hour bus ticket to southern Minnesota.

Lacking the money for even a cheap motel, I wandered across my small hometown as I tried to plan my trip home. With little options, I continued visiting various fast food restaurants for cheap coffee until the last burger joint closed at midnight, leaving me with only a couple dwindling bars for shelter, which I lacked the funds for a simple drink.

Just as Mary had predicted, a little over a year had passed during my absence. My mental faculty intact, I knew had gone somewhere special, but disbelief still nagged me.

To be more precise, it was a little over a year, for it was late August. I had noticed the early changes in the leaves when the farmer drove me into town. This also meant that it would be chilly at night, reaffirmed by the brisk air already nipping at me upon leaving the last restaurant.

To compel the situation, I had no jacket. Tolerating a day in the cold was a far simpler endeavor when compared to sleeping outside in such climate. I tucked my hands into my pockets and headed towards the center of town with two destinations in mind: the local emergency waiting room and the abandoned railroad tunnel that passed through a manmade hill created for the main highway. I chose unused tunnel since I had no excuse to be lingering in a waiting room until dawn.

Stumbling along the eerily quiet and dimly lit sidewalk, I arrived at the tunnel and slowly began to approach the decaying entrance. Relying mostly on the moonlight, I listened for signs of people in the shadows. I stepped into the darkness and promptly smelt cooking food. Stopping in my tracks, my ears soon picked up the sound of breathing.

"Hello?" I queried. "I don't mean to cause trouble."

A man's voice resonated from the darkness. "I certainly hope not."

To my side, I spotted a homeless man sitting on a dislodged railroad tie with his back to the old brick wall, holding something in his hand. Subconsciously, I took a step backward, returning to the moonlight. "I was just looking for a place to crash until morning."

"Damn it," said the man as he snatched away a piece of cardboard, which in turn revealed a small wire grill set over a small fuel can, the type used for camping. Over the flame, an opened can of soup cooked. "Nearly set my cardboard on fire."

"Sorry," I said.

"Ah, no worries. I thought you were trouble and wanted to hide the flame."

"Do you get enough heat to cook?"

"Ya. Doesn't take much."

"What about to sleep?"

"Don't need a fire until it gets closer to freezing. I don't think it will get that cold tonight." The man studied me more closely. "Where's your jacket?"

"Don't have one. I unexpectedly returned today from a long trip. I didn't take a jacket with me."

The homeless man took a crooked spoon and began stirring the contents within his soup can. "Where did you go?"

"Um...north."

"North? There's a lot of _north_. Anyplace fun?"

I tucked my hands back into my pockets. "No. I just stayed by a lake with friends. You could say it was kind of like a hippie commune."

The man licked his spoon before leaning back against the tunnel wall. "Make yourself at home if you plan on staying the night. You can use the plastic tarp in my shopping cart. I just found it, so it's clean. You'll also find an old wool blanket that should be sufficient to see you through till morning. Don't worry; the blanket's washed. I do some manual labor for one of the churches in exchange for cans of soup and the occasional use of their washing machine."

"Thank you." Fearing the start of hypothermia, I went to the cart and extracted the tarp and thin wool blanket.

"Ah, what the hell," said the man. "Let's start a small fire to get you warmed up. I don't get company all that often." The man slowly scrambled to his feet and crossed to the other side of the tunnel. From the shadows, the man returned with an armful of scrap wood, which he set down by his tiny camping stove. He stacked the wood neatly for burning, and with some scrap paper, transferred the flame from his small can of cooking fuel to the wood. "I've learned to get by without a fire pit. The city occasional cleans out this space, so I don't bother building anything permanent."

I sat before the flame and draped the wool blanket over my shoulders, layering it with the plastic. Though the flame was small, I immediately felt what warmth from the fire. With the added light, I could now see the man's face more clearly and judged him to be in his late fifties or early sixties, his face severely weathered from living in the elements.

"Would you like some soup?" asked the homeless man. "It's beef vegetable."

"No thank you. I just had a hamburger with my remaining money, which I'm starting to regret."

"Really?" The man gingerly moved the hot can of soup from the wire grill to his railroad tie. As he dropped the lid onto the fuel can to extinguish the flame, he asked, "Why?"

"I think the greasy burger is shocking my system. While I was staying at that lake cabin, I only ate healthy food: fruits and nuts."

The man began staring into the small campfire. "You say that you were staying with hippies?"

Something in the man's voice gave me pause. "Yes."

"Fruits and nuts?"

"Yes. My friends live off the land without any farm animals. They claim to live in harmony with nature. Kind of like fairies."

The man turned to me, his face gave. "They don't like being called fairies, but you already knew that. Didn't you?" Slowly, he began to smile.


	10. Going Home

**10 Going Home**

I stared at the homeless man with the certainty that he had visited the same lake and ramshackle house. "You've been there?"

"Yes. Just over thirty years ago." With joyous laughter, the man slapped his knee. "I didn't think I'd ever meet someone else who had taken the path of the bluebells. How much time did you lose?"

"What do you mean?"

"From when you left till now?"

I pulled the blanket tighter over my shoulders. "A little over a year. You?"

The man sat back, surprised by my news. "Only a year? I lost forty."

My eyes widened. "Forty years? How long did you spend at the lake?"

"About one year in their time. That damn woman didn't warn me about the difference in time." The homeless man became subdued almost as quickly as he had become excited. He sighed and said, "She wasn't happy when I told her that I wanted to go home, especially since she told me her real name."

"Mary?"

The man gave me a confused look. "Ekko. Who's Mary?"

"The Sioux Indian woman."

The man's brow arched upon recognition. "Ah. I knew her as Laila."

I chuckled nervously. "Sorry, she still goes by that. Mary is just something used between us. What's Ekko's real name?

The man wagged his finger at me, smiling. "I'm not going to tell. I may have left, but I will never betray her. Besides, they have quite the temper. If I remember correctly, Laila had an even fiercer one."

"Ya, they're an emotional bunch. Laila was the one that took me to the lake."

"Did she share her real name?"

"No. I only stayed for 10 days. Laila had planned my visit and warned me of what I might lose. She told me that she didn't want to ruin my life if I should decide to return."

"Wish they would have warned me." The man scooped up a spoonful of soup. "But I have no regrets. I'm still glad I went."

The cold night air continued to nip at my exposed skin, reminding me of my current predicament. I asked the homeless man, "Why do you live here?"

The man shrugged as he swallowed his soup. "When I returned, I didn't feel as if I belonged anymore. My last living relative had died a year prior, and I knew no one would believe my story. Worse yet, if they did believed my identity, I could have been tried as a deserter."

"A deserter?"

"I was in the army you see, during the war."

Doing the quick math, I guessed, "World War Two?"

"Yes. I was a prison guard here in Minnesota. Many of the German prisoners were spread across the country with some ending up here in Minnesota."

"My father told me that German prisoners planted many of the scenic pine trees that we now see along the highways up here."

"That's true. The government gave them chores to keep them busy, to keep them fit. That was when I ended up deserting, not on purpose, not really."

"What happened?"

"We were out having the prisoners plant trees when one of the men went missing."

"He escaped?" I asked.

"No. There were only a dozen or so true escape attempts from Minnesota. Mostly, the Germans wanted to stretch their legs when they wandered off. They didn't want to go back to Europe and fight. Some even stayed here after the war. This particular prisoner loved the landscape and would often go looking for a lake to go swimming. That afternoon, when he didn't return, we assumed that he had gotten lost, so a couple of us took a truck and went searching. We had stopped at a known lake to stretch our own legs when I heard whispering from the woods. When I noticed faint movement in the shadows, my two fellow guards thought it to be a deer, but I wasn't so sure and went to investigate. About 100 yards in, I again heard whispers, but this time, I saw something moving swiftly through the trees: a tall woman with the strangest eyes, wearing close to no clothing."

"Ekko?"

"Yes." Fully recalling the encounter, the man licked his smiling lips. "She took my breath away. I asked if she was lost or needed help, but she just stared at me with those stunning eyes. When she didn't respond, I began to feel self-conscious for staring at her and turned away, apologizing. She asked me—in that funny accent of hers— if I liked what I saw. When I peeked over my shoulder, I saw that she had removed the rest of her clothing. As she approached, I stood there paralyzed, unsure of what I should do. That is when she said, 'How about start with a kiss.'"

"Because she was reading your mind," I said.

"Yes," replied the man. "She later told me that she knew that she liked me, that she had learned everything that she needed to know within seconds of looking inside my head."

"Did you kiss her?" I asked.

"Damn right I did. I would have done anything that woman wanted right then and there. It was love at first sight; the shock was so great that it felt like being struck by lightning. Afterward, she took me to a more secluded lake where we washed up by skinny-dipping. When she asked if I wanted to go away with her, I said yes without hesitation."

Studying the homeless man's face in the dim firelight, I could sense we experienced many of the same things. "Why did you come back?"

The man's smile quickly faded. "The war. I was damaged in the war and had to come back. A piece of me will forever be anchored to this world."

Unsure if I should ask, I sat silently and turned my gaze to the fire.

"You see, I was wounded in North Africa in 42. I took artillery shrapnel in the shoulder and neck." The man pulled the collar of his jacket and shirt to one side, revealing his collarbone. "The scars used to run from my chest to my ear. I healed up nicely in hospital, but my shoulder was never 100%, so the Army made me a prison guard here in the states."

In the dim light, I failed to see his scar. "I don't see anything."

The man smiled once again. "That's because the fairies fixed me up. They applied some kind of tonic to the scars and made me wash in that lake every evening. Within a couple weeks, the scars had healed completely, even my shoulder; however, there was one thing they could not fix." The man tapped his temple. "They could not undo the war."

I could never truly understand this man's torment, but I now had a basic understanding for his return. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. I was still very appreciative to have full range of my shoulder once again. Plus that neck scar was not attractive."

"I noticed that some of fairies had scars," I said, holding my hands closer to the fire. "Hiero had a scar."

"Those are probably scars of honor. They don't erase those. They wear them with pride, like tattoos. Had you been there longer, you would have learned that."

"Oh." Staring into the fire, I fondly remembered the fires on the beach.

The homeless man asked, "Why did you come back?"

"I have a daughter. I want to see her grow up, if I can."

"Ah." The man nodded, returning to his soup. "That makes sense."

"My friend Laila said she would visit me the next time she comes to our world."

The man's voice softened. "Ekko promised to find me on her next visit, but she never did. They are the most wonderful people who understand what's truly important in life. They love and play earnestly, but they can hold a grudge if you anger them. It's as if all their emotions are hopped up on steroids."

"Are you saying that I shouldn't expect to see Laila ever again?"

"No. I would never want to say that. Each one of them is different. Maybe she will look you up during her next visit. Then again, she may not be able to visit if the door between our worlds remains shut for a long time."

Thinking of the bluebells, I gasped. "I think the door is still open for a little bit longer. Those blue flowers are still in bloom. You could go visit Ekko."

The man shook his head. "You cannot simply follow the flowers on your own; you have to be with someone that knows the way. Besides, I would not go even if I could." The man again tapped his temple. "I'm right where I want to be. I have fresh air to breathe, live in a nice small town, and get plenty of exercise by walking about and collecting aluminum cans. I'm happy, unlike those people who return to their cluttered houses after a long day of being trapped behind a desk, getting fat and old from the unnecessary stress. I don't envy them at all."

"That's what I'm going to try to do: return to my house and boring job, to sit behind a desk until retirement."

"You must really love her," said the man.

"Laila?"

"Your daughter."

I smiled. "Yes. I lost a year of her growing up. I don't plan on losing anymore."

"Good for you. Too many parents give up too early."

Do you miss her, Ekko?"

"Every day."

The thought of never seeing Laila again caused my head to sag.

The man could see my despair and tapped my shoulder. "It's not easy coming back, but there is a reason for everything—even if we are too dimwitted to understand it. The fairies say that only love can bring you back, and so it has, but what those suckers don't tell you is that you can never go home."

Despite a cheerful night of shared stories in front of a warm fire, sleep did not come to me in that tunnel entrance. At first light, I began my preparations to leave. Using an old nail found amongst the trash, I found the gold pliable and undid a couple links from the chain. I delicately left a pair of links atop the homeless man's cooking fuel can so that he would easily find them upon waking. Without making a sound, I left my friend to his blissful slumber.

I next took two more freed gold links to the local pawnshop where I received enough spending money for a few days' meals and a bus ticket back to southern Minnesota. The remaining gold chain would remain around my neck until I could properly assess its value.

After the most monotonous bus ride, I finally reached my home street in that evening to find a new family already living within my home. The 'sold' sign in the yard indicated that the house had been foreclosed property, probably sold in auction just weeks prior.

Two hours later, on the other side of town, I reached the home of my only friend.

When Dee opened her door, she stared at me for a long moment without saying a word.

Feeling the tension, I said, "Hey, Dee."

My friend hugged me before pushing me away as she angrily slapped at my shoulders until tears burst from her eyes. She then again hugged me tightly. "We thought you were dead."

"No. Just went away to a hippie commune for a year."

"What? Where?" Dee wiped at her tears. "The police looked everywhere for you."

"Um, Canada."

"Fool, why didn't you tell anyone you were going?"

"I didn't know I was going."

Dee's eyes narrowed with doubt.

"A woman invited me, and I went on the spur of the moment."

Dee punched me on the shoulder.

"Ow."

"Why didn't you call or email?"

"They didn't have electricity."

Dee punched me again. "How do you survive a Canadian winter without electricity?"

"Wood fires and blankets."

Dee punched me again.

Rubbing my shoulder, I took a step back. "You can punch me all night if you want, but can you punch me inside, out of the cold?"

"I thought you liked the cold."

"I'm sorry, Dee. I didn't plan this. I had no way of contacting anyone."

Dee glared at me until her resolve began to melt. She stepped forward and hugged me once more. "Get your ass inside before I change my mind."

As Dee reheated leftovers from her recent dinner, I sat at her extended kitchen counter and shared my story—of what could be believed. I told her about Mary and the peaceful 'commune' in _Canada_ , divulging the ramshackle house and farm, even the peaceful cabin located in the peaceful valley, confessing at the end that I had come back for my daughter.

Just mentioning my own daughter's name caused me to jump up from my chair. Without me having to ask, Dee gestured to a small desk in the corner and said I could use her computer, which I immediately did for the next hour.

My ex-wife—always willing to show her displeasure—did not disappoint, for her disdain for me had greatly increased over the past year; however, despite all this, she let me see my daughter on video chat.

My daughter's minimal vocabulary had grown slightly, but verbal communication still remained impossible. And since signing with hands never grew past the same handful of words learned at an earlier age, we did what we always did: we shared smiles as she showed me her favorite stuffed animals. She would hold up a toy and say something in gibberish, and it took everything within me to hold back my tears. My heart swelled with joy at seeing her, but her speech delay gave me immeasurable pang. I would have traded anything, even my life, to give her the ability to communicate, to free her from that isolation.

Later, Dee returned from her laundry and joined me on the couch. "How did it go with you daughter?"

"The same," I replied. "I need to go see her in the Philippines."

"And do what?" Dee sat back, crossing her arms. "The only thing currently different is that you cannot hug her. What would you do for work?"

"I could find a job there. I could do hospital billing over the internet."

"You hate the heat, and you know your ex will make your life unbearable."

"I know, but I have a responsibil—"

"Stop." Dee briefly held up her hand. "I know you love your daughter, but you have to get your life back on track here before you do anything."

"Perhaps. My head is stuffed full of indecisions right now." I sipped from a cup of tea that Dee had prepared for me. "Firstly, I have to visit the bank in the morning and see what happened to my mortgage and finances."

"My brother has some clothes left here from his last visit. Feel free to take any of them. It will be chilly in the morning. He has an old fall jacket hanging by the door that you can use."

"Thanks, Dee."

"What did you wear to survive the Canadian winter?"

"Um, big animal skins with big furry boots. You know those wacky Canadians."

Dee elbowed me in the arm. "Just tell me if you need to borrow some money."

"I have enough to get through a couple more days. And tomorrow, after I visit bank, I'm going to sell part of this." I reached under my collar and pulled up the gold chain, letting it fall upon my shirt."

The sight of the jewelry caused Dee to spin in her seat. She held the chain between her fingers and whistled. "This is very old."

"Ya. I sold a couple links for the bus ticket back here. After visiting with my daughter on video chat, I looked up the value of gold on the internet."

"Be sure to visit two or three dealers to make sure you get the best price."

"I will." Not a particular fan of opulence, I tucked the gold back under my shirt.

With one brow raised, Dee asked, "Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift. Someone in the commune realized that I had lost everything when I followed one of their flock to their farm. They insisted that I take it since they're self sufficient and cashless."

Dee's look became more suspicious. "A gift?"

I shrugged. "Canadians."

The following morning, I ventured to the bank and learned that my house had been foreclosed and sold by their subsidy mortgage company. The automatic house payments first drained my limited checking, then depleted my savings—which had already been priorly depleted by my ex wife when she returned to the Philippines. The bank did make a small profit from the sale of my home, but other outstanding debts tied to my name used up said profit, which resulted in the freezing my banking accounts. When the police inquired with the bank about my disappearance, the bank informed them that my last account activity had been that day I biked through the woods. I then asked for my accounts to be reactivated, and after much waiting, had my checking account returned to me with a simple $20 cash deposit.

Needing more funds, I left the bank on foot for a gold buyer to begin pricing my chain, but within a few blocks of the bank, a large black sedan pulled up next to me. A man and woman, both dressed sharply, exited the vehicle with what appeared to be police badges in plain view. Both cordial and polite, the two promptly stood on either side of me.

The woman held up her identification badge. "Mr. Clarkson?"

"Yes."

"May we have a word? I'm Detective Christine Pederson."

"From the city?" I asked.

"Yes." The woman slid her identification back into her pocket before gesturing to her colleague. This is Detective Robert Nicks. We were assigned to your missing person's case."

I felt my face flush. "Oh, right. I was going to call you today or tomorrow. I just got back last night." Feeling uneasy from the unexpected attention, I nervously bit my lip until I felt compelled to say, "Sorry."

Detective Pederson patiently smiled. "May we ask; where were you?"

"Oh. Um, would you believe me if I told you that I followed a girl to a hippie commune where they had no phones or electricity. The commune is on a tiny farm remote in the woods?"

The male detective shared a look with his partner before returning his attention to me. "Must have been some woman for you to abandon your cell phone and car in the forest, not to mention your job."

Thinking of Mary made me smile. "Yes, she is. But it wasn't perverted or anything. She simply became my best friend."

Removing a notepad, Detective Pederson prepared her pen to write. "What's her name?"

"What?"

"What's her name? The city and the state of Minnesota spent a large amount of resources looking for you. We are obliged to follow up and make sure no foul play has been committed."

"Ah right. Her name is Mary."

"What is her last name?" continued Detective Pederson.

"Um..." In the cool morning air of early autumn, I suddenly felt very warm. I debated inventing a last name, but immediately realized that the detectives would follow up and not find her, false name or not.

"Is there a problem?" asked Detective Nicks.

"No, sir" I said. "I don't know her last name."

"Don't know her name?" he repeated. "You don't know the full name of your _best friend_?"

"Sorry," I said. "What can I say; the hippies didn't believe in conventional naming. To them, names where restrictive to the spirit."

"And where may we find this commune," asked Detective Pederson.

 _Shit,_ I thought. "You cannot visit it."

The female detective's friendly demeanor began to turn cold. "Why not?"

"It's in Canada."

"I see." Detective Pederson slid her notepad into her jacket pocket. "We still need to close this case. Would you be willing to come to the station to help us do so? All completely voluntary on your part."

Seeing the open door offered to me, I thought best to pass through it in the most cooperative manner possible. "I'm currently unemployed. Would now be a good time?"

Detective Nicks opened the back door to the sedan. "Now would be the perfect time."

I presented my hands to Detective Pederson.

She looked at them briefly and smiled. "Cuffs are not needed. You are not under arrest."

"Ah, good," I said, sliding into the back seat of the sedan.

The female detective slid in next to me and asked, "Would you be willing to submit fingerprints so we can be assured of your identity?"

"Yes of course. My friend Dee and my former boss can attest to my identity too."

"Good. We may ask them for an official statement."

"Will I be punished or fined for disappearing?"

"Only if you did it in malice," said Detective Pederson.

"I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just got swept up." Nervously twiddling my thumbs, I asked, "How did you know I was back?"

Detective Hicks pulled the sedan out into traffic. "We told the bank to alert us of any activity on your accounts. They contacted us last night when you tried to use your credit cards."

The female detective seemed to be studying me when she said, "The bank called us again when you met with a banker this morning."

"I see." I took a calming breath as I glanced out the passenger window.

"What did the bank tell you?" asked Detective Pederson.

"That I'm broke," I replied, shrugging nervously. "I've incurred some debt from neglecting my finances, but nothing I can't fix once I get back to work."

Continuing to eye me, the female detective asked, "Are you going back to your former job?"

"Don't know," I replied. "I will return to my old job if my boss will have me."

The detective driving glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Was she worth it?"

Clutching my hands together, I took a moment to ponder the question. Staring out the passenger window, I smiled and replied with a soft-spoken, "Yes."


	11. Remembering

**11 Remembering**

With my fingerprints electronically scanned and verified, I sat alone in an unlocked interrogation room, sipping coffee as I waited for the city detectives to return. When a shadow appeared in the doorway, I turned to see two males dressed in dark suits. Behind them stood Detective Pederson.

The men entered with the senior of the two moving closer to me. "Frederick Clarkson?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please stand. We need you to come with us."

When I stood, the second man grabbed my arm and proceeded to cuff my hands behind my back. I looked to Detective Pederson for an explanation.

With a peculiar sadness in her eyes, she said, "Sorry."

"Who are you guys?" I asked.

"We're with the federal government."

"FBI?"

The man who cuffed me turned to Detective Pederson. "Has he been frisked?"

"No. He came in voluntarily."

Since the men did not answer my question, I again turned to the female officer. "Detective?"

"We did not contact them?" she said.

"Who are they?" I asked

Giving the female detective a warning glance, the senior man said, "She is not to say."

From her expression, I understood who had arrested me.

As the younger agent frisked me, discovering my wallet, the senior of the two agents asked, "Did you tell the local police that you had gone off to a commune in Canada?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is your passport?"

"You only need a driver's license to go to Canada."

The agent smiled perversely. "That changed 15 years ago."

Just then, I remembered that the border rules had changed with Canada and realized that my harmless lie was no longer harmless. I felt the blood drain from my face.

The younger agent next discovered my gold chain on my person. He lifted large necklace from around my neck and held it out for all to see, whistling his amazement. "Where did you get this?"

"It was a gift?"

"Really? Any gift receipts by chance?" The younger agent dropped the chain into his jacket pocket and began guiding me to the door.

"Don't you have to read me my rights?"

With a hint of boastfulness in his voice, the senior agent said, "No."

The two men next put me into the back of a white van where I sat cuffed to a bench. After every question I posed to the younger agent sitting across from me went unanswered, I began to stare at the floor of the windowless compartment. We traveled for about an hour when I finally felt the van come to a stop and engine shut off. When the back door opened, I found myself in an underground parking garage. Though the men refused to say where we were, a couple cars that did not have governmental plates hinted that I was still in Minnesota.

The agents led me inside, past armed checkpoints, and through a short maze of corridors until we reached a room where they stripped searched me—including my body cavity. Afterwards, they gave me an orange jumpsuit and foam footwear. Once dress, they allowed me to use the toilet before depositing me in an interrogation room that contained three chairs, a table, and a single microphone. On the wall, a simple portrait of a mature woman in business attire hung. They handcuffed me to a thick metal bar that had been bolted to the table and left me to wait.

When they eventually returned, they proceeded to interrogate me while ignoring my injected questions. They refused to share their names or for whom they worked. They wanted to know where I had been and how I travelled to and from Canada without being detected. The only information they divulged was a comment about how my cell phone activity and online footprint during my absence was less than any terrorist's activity they had tracked. They wanted to know how I came into possession of the gold chain, for they assumed it had been stolen.

At first, I tried to answer their questions, but soon fell silent, for I realized the hopelessness of the situation. I was in the hands of people who did not exist, people who made other people disappear. These were the people who had been given too much power after a certain, fateful day in the country's history. These men knew everything I had done online; they knew every financial transaction, every cell phone call. They had recorded every second of my life for over the past decade—not just me, but everyone's; however, they knew absolutely nothing about my life from the past year, and this is what captured their attention.

I could have told them the truth and confess to a special land where people of a different sort lived free from this world's prejudices, but even I struggled to believe that I had been there. I could have told them lies, but whatever I imagined—no matter how simple—that lie could never be verified. To them, I was guilty until proven innocent, and I had nothing that would prove that innocence.

Whether they saw me in allegiance with overseas terrorist or like those of the Oklahoma bombing, I do not know, for they would not communicate anything. I futilely asked for a lawyer—to which they snickered—and knew that a difficult road lay ahead of me. Whether released tomorrow or a year from now, I also understood that my gold was forsaken. With nothing left to say, I dejectedly stared at the table as their questioning persisted. Through all this, I would occasionally stretch my neck and glimpse at the mysterious woman's portrait hanging on the wall. I thought I recognized the woman but could not come up with a name.

The two agents did not play good cop, bad cop. They were two indifferent employees of the federal government who did not have to answer to anyone. They had one goal as they repeatedly berated me with their repetitive questions that I could not answer within reason. They repeated their threats of a long confinement "to keep Americans safe" while offering no enticement. According to them, their job mandated that they monitor and round up people who did not fit into the molds expected by their bosses. Being absent for a year put in the same camp as those who go off for radicalized training. Whether it be a phone call, using the internet, or purchasing something with a credit card, not leaving single electronic mark made me a _ghost._ And these kinds of _ghosts_ were what these people feared most.

Hungry and fed up with the hours of questioning, I interrupted my interrogators and finally asked for the identity of the woman in the wall portrait. Apparently amused by my question, they asked who I thought the woman to be. When I confessed to not knowing and guessed the director of the FBI or CIA, their smiles flipped to concerned looks as they informed me that the woman was the current president of the United States. I had missed a national election while away.

Taken to a holding cell, I paced the tiny space, rubbing my sore wrists. The insanity of the situation caused me to break out into maniacal laughter.

From the adjoining holding cell, a deep, resonating male voice asked, "What's so funny?"

I stopped and watched a man of a darker complexion sit up in his cot. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't know anyone was sleeping."

"I wasn't sleeping." The man rubbed his face, smiling good-naturedly. "What's so funny?"

"Oh. Um...I seem to have fallen down the rabbit hole and may never see the light of day ever again. I was just laughing at the insanity of it all."

The man took a moment to study me. "What did they pick you up for?"

"I'm not sure," I replied. "They don't share much."

"No they don't."

"If I had to guess, they think I've been radicalized." I quickly judged that the man in the adjoining cell to be a little bit older than me, his accent American. "Why did they grab you?"

"They thought I was funding terrorists overseas."

"Oh." I sat on my rigid cot. "Were you?"

The man's smile grew. "No. I just do the accounting for some overseas pharmaceutical businesses. Nothing bad."

Without thinking, I asked, "Drug trafficking?"

The man gripped the metal bars, peering into my cell. "I'm not telling. How do I know you're not a plant?"

Taken aback by his comment, I returned his suspicious look. "How do I know that you're not a plant?"

After a pause, we both began to snicker at the other's accusation, my cell neighbor appearing quite amused.

The man moved to the head of his cot so he could lean against the wall. "So, you're not a terrorist. I could tell from just looking at you."

"I'm not anything. I'm innocent."

The man eyed me as he draped his arms over his knees. "No one is truly innocent."

"I am. I...just can't prove it."

The man sighed as he looked forward at his cell door. "You know what? I think that I believe you."

I surveyed my surrounding and promptly noticed the video camera hanging from the ceiling outside my cell. "What happens next?"

"More interrogation until you tell them what they want to hear."

"I have nothing I can tell them."

"Then pray that you don't end up on an airplane." The man glanced at me out the corner of his eye. "You know what happens if they put you on an airplane."

I nodded. "A rendition flight: a fate worse than death."

The man nodded. "Only those who believe in fairies are foolish enough to believe that the government stopped those flights."

"I wouldn't call them fairies," I said. "They don't like that term."

The man gave me a confused look.

"The _little people,_ in the forest," I said. "They don't like being called fairies."

Staring awkwardly at me, the man suddenly burst out laughing. "I like you. I hope you stay longer than the last guy."

"What happened to the last guy?"

"God only knows," replied the yawning man as he closed his eyes.

"What time is it?"

"It's somewhere between dinner and breakfast."

Looking upward at the ceiling, I asked, "Do they turn off the lights?"

"No. They don't even dim them."

Unable to sleep under the bright lighting and video cameras, I tossed and turned on my cot as I worried about my fate, wondering if torture lay in my future. I also worried for my friend Dee, for these people that held me probably threatened the local police not to tell anyone that I had been taken. Again, Dee would be left to fear the worst. Despite all this foreboding, mental exhaustion eventually let me fall asleep.

Standing amongst bluebell flowers, I found myself back in the forest, wearing my orange jumpsuit. I began walking the trail, but the terrain remained stagnant, repeating itself as a particular fallen log I had hopped over began to reappear. I began running only to find the entire landscape looping, unchanging. Realizing that I was dreaming, I decided to lay down in the flowers and rest when dark clouds rolled overhead, pouring cold rain upon me. Ignoring the discomfort, I covered my teary eyes with my forearm when a flash of lighting and accompanying thunderclap caused me to sit up. I found myself fully awake in my holding cell as a prison guard in an unmarked uniform kicked the cell bars, yelling at me to take my breakfast tray.

I hopped from my cot and took my tray. Watching the guard walk away, I futilely hoped for any volunteered information from the stranger. When the main door to the holding cells slammed shut, I turned to see my cell neighbor already eating his breakfast.

I returned to my cot and inspected the cold runny eggs, cold bacon, and dry toast. Out of a perverted curiosity, I asked my neighbor, "Did you get bacon too?"

"Yes."

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you Muslim?"

"I am."

"I'll trade you my eggs for your bacon."

"Not a chance, I already ate my bacon."

"You did?" I bit off a small piece of my bacon. "Isn't that against the rules?"

"These people think their tormenting me, but I've always liked bacon. Don't tell anyone, but I don't exactly follow the dietary rules of my parents."

I chuckled as I fiddled with my carton of milk. "Your secret is safe with me." Taking a sip, I set the carton beside me when I began to say, "My name is—"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

The man glanced my way with a furled brow. "Don't tell me your name."

"Why?"

"If they torture me, I might accuse you of something in the hope that they will stop hurting me. That's what happens when the pain is bad enough. You'll tell them anything"

A cold chill passed through my body. "What if one of us is actually freed. We could inform the other's kin of our condition."

The man's solemn stare told me all that I need to know.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"I have no idea. A month, maybe. I started scratching out the days on the wall, but they came in and screamed at me with stun guns in hand when they noticed me doing so." The man nodded to the video camera recording his every movement in his cell.

I bit into my dry toast as I glanced up through the bars at my camera. I then turned to look at the small toilet in the corner and realized that they were going to record even that.

"What were you dreaming about?" asked the man.

"Huh?"

"You were tossing and turning pretty hard in your sleep."

The cool sweat on my neck led me to inspect my pillow, which was also damp. "Huh. I hope I didn't disturb your sleep."

"You didn't wake me. Without anything to do—or exercise, one can only sleep so long." The man bit into his dry toast. "I hope it was a good dream. I'd do anything for a good dream, anything to make me forget this place for just a second."

"I was dreaming about a special bluebell flower that only blooms on rare occasions up north. I was running through a vast sea of flowers. I...I was hoping to see someone."

"A woman?" The man smiled as he chewed on another bite of toast.

I tried to smile. "Yes." I scooped up a bite of cold eggs, and while ignoring the taste, an older dream came to mind, which cause my eyes to widen. "My God, I remember now."

"Remember what?"

"The first time I saw those bluebell flowers. It was about four or five years ago, right after my wife and I separated. I went up north to go mountain biking. While exploring a new trail, I rode through these brilliant blue flowers by chance. I'm not into flowers, so I didn't stop, but I did take notice of their color. That night in the hotel, I had the most vivid dream of all my life."

The man had stopped chewing as he stared at me. "Well, what was it. I could use a good story."

"The dream was similar to the one I just experienced, but the trail of flowers led me to a small log cabin by a lake, a tavern, the kind of bar fisherman used to stop at in the 70s and 80s. Inside, there was a half dozen old men sitting about, drinking beer. Unsure of what to do, I sat at the bar and ordered a soda. I was studying the fishing paraphernalia hanging about the walls when a woman of my age walked into the tavern. She took a seat at the bar, a couple bar stools away. She had long shiny black hair and an athletic physique, I thought her to be..."

My neighbor tapped the cell bars with his spoon. "Hey, are you okay?"

I lifted my gaze. "Ya. She was Indian, Sioux to be specific; I know that now. She ordered a funny sounding drink, and the bartender promptly brought her a glass filled with a glowing green liquid. After she took a sip, she turned to look at me and said, 'Are you going to stare all night or are you going to come talk to me?' I moved to the stool next to her, and we talked. I don't know how long I had actually dreamt, but it felt as if I talked for hours with this woman."

The man in the adjoining cell snickered as he returned to his food. "Just talked?"

"There's more," I retorted. "At the end of the dream, I noticed the stillness in the bar and found that everyone, but the woman had left. The first signs of morning twilight were appearing through the windows. I turned to the woman and confessed that I could talk to her forever, that I never felt more comfortable with anyone in all my life. I even commented that it felt as if there was a special chemistry between us; I promptly blushed and apologized for sounding so corny. She laughed and said that it was not _corny_ , that she too felt it. She then surprised me when she suggested that we kiss, claiming that a kiss can sometimes reveal everything."

As all the details came flooding back, my breakfast tray nearly fell from my lap.

"Why were you surprised?" asked my neighbor

"Um...no woman has ever asked me to kiss her. The significance did not escape me then, or now."

"So, did you kiss her?"

"Yes. She leaned close, and we kissed. It was the most intense feeling that I had ever experienced, dream or otherwise. It was the perfect kiss. We kissed for several seconds, and when our lips parted, we stared intently at each other with mouths agape. She licked her lips and told me, 'You were right. There is special chemistry between us.' I asked if I could kiss her again, and she said yes, but not now. I asked why not, and she told me that our time had run out. She snapped her fingers, and I awoke in my hotel bed all covered in sweat, my pillow stained as if burned in the dryer."

My cell neighbor smiled approvingly. "That's some kind of dream."

The blood drained from my face as the significance became clear. "Shit. She was actually in my dream. She somehow had visited me in my sleep."

The man returned to his breakfast. "This woman exists?"

"Yes. We, um...recently took a trip together. That silly man was right; I had kissed her before. I never realized that my dream was more than that. This is why I didn't remember till now."

"Is this the same woman you were hoping to see while you were sleeping just now?"

Shocked by the realization, my voice wavered when I replied, "Yes. I now know where I belong. I have made a huge mistake."

Recognizing my despair, the man paused from taking his next bite of food. "I try telling myself it's never too late. If you are innocent, and they think you can keep your mouth shut, they may let you go."

Recalling the few releases of prisoners who had been imprisoned secretly—the few actually known to the public—my spirits only sunk further. "Ya, but foreign countries were looking for their citizens. They knew we had them. No one with power will be looking for me."

"True. But if they have released innocent Americans prior to us—and those Americans kept their mouth shut, we would not know about them. There could be dozens, maybe hundreds of us that might have been set free, threatened to keep quiet."

Despite this man's optimism, I could not see a future. A soft, "Maybe," was all I could muster.

As I returned to my breakfast, two nervous looking guards entered the holding room, each taking a post before one of our cell doors.

I turned to my neighbor. "What's going on?"

"I don't know."

I set my breakfast tray to the side and asked the guard standing before my door, "What's happening?"

"Don't speak unless spoken to," he said with a stern tone before resting his hand on his side arm.

The other guard pressed a hand to an earpiece. After a brief second of listening, he then pressed something on his collar and said, "We have the prisoners in sight. We await your orders." Then like the man standing before my door, this one too rested his hand upon his side arm.

Nervously, the two guards exchanged looks before proceeding to draw their weapons.


	12. Out of the Frying Pan

**12 Out of the Frying Pan**

As the two guards drew their handguns from their side holsters, dread filled my body. Rising to my feet, my bowels wanted to evacuate as the guard before my cell door sharpened his gaze on me, his handgun pointing at my feet.

The other guard pressed a button on his radio and spoke, "Please report, we await your orders." After several seconds of silence, he turned to his cohort. "My radio might be failing. Should one of us go see what's happening?"

"No. Even if the electronics are failing, we stick to protocol and remain with the prisoners. They must not escape. Got it?"

The other guard acknowledged his understanding with a simple nod as he returned his focus to my neighbor.

The lights above flickered, causing both guards to flinch, which in turn, sent a surge of panic through me since I feared the two men to be trigger-happy. As I nervously wiped my clammy palms against my orange jumpsuit, the lock inside the heavy steel door that secured holding cell room clicked. Both guards turned and pointed their guns at the door.

"Identify yourself!" barked the man in front of my cell, but no reply came. Slowly, the door opened a couple inches but no farther.

The guard before my cell held his aim on the heavy steel door as the other guard pointed his gun at my cell neighbor.

"Take it easy," I said. "There is no need to shoot us. We promise not to escape." I looked to my neighbor. "Right?"

"Hell ya," he replied. "Handcuff me to the bars, chain me to the floor."

The guard pointing his gun at my neighbor pulled back the firing hammer. "Shut it! No talking!"

My guard held his aim on the door as he too pulled back his weapon's firing hammer. "I said identify yourself!"

Perhaps out of desperation, I lifted my hands in the air as if surrendering. In my peripheral vision, I could see my arms trembling as my breathing labored under the tension in the room. My heart racing, I thought my life would soon end when something most peculiar happened. From the small gap in the door, the sound of a woman signing a foreign chant began to fill the room.

"Who's there?" barked the guard standing before my cell.

The singing continued unhampered, resonating off the walls, growing louder. The chant was slow and melodic, in a language strange to me. Finding the sound pleasing, my tremors soothed as the woman continued her chant unhampered. Focusing on the voice, I lowered my hands.

The guard pointing his handgun at my neighbor shifted his aim to the door, but even this man's demeanor had calmed when he asked his partner, "What do we do?"

The other guard began lowering his gun, but then lifted it once again, pointing it lazily at the door. His voice had also softened. "I don't know."

The dread in my body began to lift as I listened to the heavenly voice. The owner of the voice was clear to me as I whispered, "Mary."

When I staggered sleepily on my feet, the guards looked in my direction, but their guns now hung harmlessly at their sides.

Unable to step towards my cell door, I stumbled backward and flopped onto my cot. Closing my eyes, I listened to the melodic chant and soon heard Hiero's voice in my head.

 _We are taking you out of this place. Everyone is about to take a little nap._

Lying on my side, I smiled as my mind surrendered to the voice behind the door. _Mary, I...I rem..._

 **...**

With Mary's voice in my thoughts, a hand gently tapped my face as I regained consciousness. Mary whispered in my ear, "Frederick, wake up. Frederick, can you hear me?"

With a gasp, I sat up quickly and began looking about. Before me, Mary and Hiero knelt, their arms ready to grip me if I should panic. Next to me, the prisoner from the adjoining cell lay on a hard rubber floor. Piecing together the recent events, I began breathing heavily and soon realized that I was in the back of the van that had no windows. Along the walls of the vehicle, I recognized the two benches with bars to which attached handcuffs. Glancing at my cell neighbor, I pulled on my face before turning to Hiero. "Is he okay?"

Hiero nodded. "Who is he?"

"I have no idea. I don't know his name."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That doesn't surprise me."

"No," I said. "Not because of my bad memory for names. We didn't share our names in case we were taken overseas."

Hiero's brow knitted as he gazed upon the face of the unconscious man. "What happens overseas?"

"That is where they force prisoners to talk." My body shuddered at the thought of what I may have escaped.

Mary became visibly angry. "Why don't they just torture their enemies here and then destroy the bodies?"

Surprised by her view, I gave my friend a confused look.

"What?" she said. "I come from more brutal times. I'm just curious to why they would change their methods."

"The public is not supposed to know of their existence, or of their affairs. They claim be working for the good guys, and we are supposed to give them our blind faith. These people keep their dirty laundry far out of sight. That is why they have others do their less scrupulous work."

"Typical." Hiero leaned forward and patted my cellmate on the face. "Wake up, princess."

As soon as the man's eyes open, he sat up. "Where are we?"

Hiero shrugged. "Suburb on the west side of the Twin Cities."

The man cautiously looked at my friends, combing his thoughts. "How did you get us out of there?"

"Sleeping gas," replied Hiero, the lie simple and believable.

The man turned to Mary. "I thought I heard a woman singing. It was beautiful. Was that you?"

Mary smiled. "Maybe. It might have been the gas."

Hiero reached into a large paper sack and presented an armful of clothes. "You two should be able to find something to wear out of these."

As my cellmate inspected the clothing, I lifted one foot in the air to show off my foam slippers. "Shoes?"

"Ah, right." Hiero reached behind him and presented two identical pairs of sports shoes. "I think we estimated your sizes correctly."

My cellmate looked at the tag and smiled. "Spot on."

Looking at my pair, I found them very close. "They'll work. Where did you get this stuff?"

Mary scooted back, taking a seat on a bench. "Some place called Goodwill. It's just a couple miles down the road."

The look on my face gave away my next question.

"We didn't steal the clothes," replied Mary.

Hiero laughed. "We used the money we stole from the government agents."

My eyes graced the interior of the van. "This van belongs to them; doesn't it?"

"Yes," replied Hiero. "We'll give it back once we get up north."

My cellmate paused his dressing to look at me. "North?"

"Canada," I said.

"Are you guys terrorists?" asked the man.

Exchanging a smile with Mary, Hiero replied, "Terrorists? Good God, no. Perhaps overly mischief at times, that's all. Are you a terrorist?"

My cellmate pulled on a new shirt and shook his head. "I'm just a businessman. I just had the misfortune of stepping on someone's toes in the government. Someone didn't like me dipping into their profits."

Mary looked into the man's eyes but said nothing.

The man glanced questionably at me. "What is she doing?"

"Reading your mind." I began pulling my arms free from my prison garb. "It doesn't hurt."

Mary broke her stare and shrugged. "He's telling the truth. He has never harmed an innocent."

Pulling his prison uniform free from his legs, the man began pulling on tracksuit bottoms. "Wish I had that ability. It would make my business dealings much easier."

I paused and turned to the man. "You don't actually believe me when I said she was reading you mind, do you?"

"Of course I do. I'm always open to the unexplained, which there is much of in this world."

As I continued dressing, I tried to think of other unexplained things that science had yet to spoil, but none came to mind.

Once I had finished changing, we exited the van to find ourselves standing in a quiet corner of a big-box shopping mart, squinting under the afternoon sun.

My cell neighbor turned in a slow circle. "This looks like Plymouth."

Hiero shrugged again. "If you say so. Are you good if we part here?"

"Ya. I actually know people nearby." The man reached out and shook Mary's hand. "Thank you."

Hiero next shook the man's hand. Remembering something, he raised a finger before reaching into his pocket to produce a thick fold of cash. Pulling off several bills, he passed them to my cellmate. "For your travels."

The man smiled as he tucked the cash into his pocket. "Thanks again." The man finally shook my hand. "Good luck in Canada."

"Good luck to you too."

Without another word, my cellmate turned and began walking towards the closest big-box store to disappear amongst its shoppers.

Hiero entered the driver's side door of the van and started the engine. Following Mary's lead, I entered with her on the passenger's side. As we began the long drove north, Hiero and Mary began commenting casually about the suburbs and shiny sports cars, later pointing out details in the landscape as the towns gradually became smaller and more distant apart. They tried to include me in their discussions, but I did not feel like talking.

Mary touched my arm. "What's wrong?"

"I never thought I'd be a fugitive."

Hiero guffawed. "I've been one most my life. It makes life much more interesting. You'll get used to it."

Mary frowned at her friend before saying to me, "You are innocent, and we all know it."

"I'm going to be labeled a terrorist by my country. That is what they will tell my daughter if they ever talk to her or her mother."

"Hiero leaned forward against the steering wheel. "Did you not say that these people are extremely secretive?"

"Yes."

"Then I doubt they will ever admit that they had you in their custody. They'll probably hide their mistakes just like their crimes."

Thinking over Hiero's words, I asked, "Did you cover your faces when you rescued me?"

From Mary's expression, she must have thought my question silly. "No. Why?"

"They have video cameras everywhere. They probably recorded your faces."

Hiero's brow furled with thought. "Do they record themselves or just everybody else?"

"Just everybody else. My cell had a camera pointed at it."

"When we made our way through the building, putting everyone to sleep with Laila's chant, we stumbled upon a computer room. We destroyed everything within it before moving on." Drumming his fists on the steering wheel, he simulated the smashing of equipment before winking at me. "And if they still have our faces, so what? I won't be visiting this area again for a very long time."

"Me too," commented Mary. "So what?"

Ready to reiterate her words, I paused with a new thought. "What about this van?"

"What about the van?" asked Mary.

"The government tracks everything, _everything_. This van is probably being tracked by satellites right now."

Hiero gnawed his lip. "What do you suggest?"

"The next large city coming up is St. Cloud. We should abandon the van at a busy shopping center."

"Okay," said Hiero. "We'll steal a different car to take us the rest of the way."

I frowned at the man.

"What?"

"I don't want steal an innocent person's car."

Smiling, Mary patted my knee. "Chased by the law, and you are still thinking of others. Don't worry; they'll get their vehicle back."

"Well..." I slowly began to smile at the situation. "Make it an old one."

"Old what?" asked Hiero.

"An old car. The newer cars now come with civilian tracking technology. I'm sure the government can tap into that too if they want."

"Right," said Hiero. "We'll let you pick the vehicle."

My thoughts next turned to Dee. Not wanting to leave her worrying, I asked, "Can we call my friend to let her know that I'm all right?"

"Sure," said Hiero. "Do you want to stop at the next gas station?"

Without a cell phone, I tried to recall the last time I saw an actual pay phone. "On second thought, I'll just send a quick post card."

Mary looked at me and smiled. "That would be nice. What are you going to tell her?"

"That I'm returning to the commune in Canada, that I'll write her when I can. Will the police question her?"

"Doubt it," said Hiero. "If they are this hush hush, they'll just watch her. Maybe read her mail."

"They already scan everyone's mail," I said.

"Really?"

"They claim that they only scan the outside of everyone's physical mail. But I'm sure they found a way to look inside...to keep us safe."

"Safe?" Hiero snorted as he stared at the road ahead. "Oh my; it must cost a fortune to spy on all of you."

When we reached St. Cloud, we drove to the busy shopping district of town and abandoned the van in a parking lot that appeared to be free of security cameras. On my suggestion, we found an old pickup truck. As Hiero hotwired the ignition, I searched the compartments for a cell phone or other handheld device that could track us. On the way out of town, we stopped at a large gas station where I bought a postcard with which I informed Dee of my wellbeing and intentions. Writing quickly—for Hiero and Mary were waiting for me in a stolen pickup—I mailed the post card with extra postage and returned with my friends to the highway, heading north.

Despite switching vehicles, my worry only continued to grow. I could see the same distress in the other two. "Are you guys nervous because of me, or are you simply worried too?"

Mary took a deep breath and sighed. "We feel it too. We won't rest until you're safe."

"We're less than a couple hours away," said Hiero before pointing to the rearview mirror. "And I haven't noticed anyone following us."

I gazed out of the passenger window into the sky. "They could be in the air."

Hiero gestured up with his index finger. "I haven't seen any airplanes."

"Drones," I said, continuing my search.

Mary looked up through the windscreen. "What are drones?"

"They are tiny pilotless airplanes that the government uses to track and kill people."

"Kill people?" Mary sat back. "How often do they kill people with these...drones?"

"None in America, according to them. But they kill people overseas all the time."

Hiero's eye began to shift between the road and sky. "Bombs?"

"Rockets," I replied. "Very accurate rockets."

Hiero's face hardened, appearing disgusted. "So this is how your country executes foreigners."

"And Americans, they blew up an American teenager at a public cafe. The government said it was an accident, claiming that they were targeting an Egyptian."

"What about the employees or other patrons at the cafe?" asked Mary. "Did any of them die?"

"Yes. Many of them were killed. The government calls them collateral damage. The government often performs something called a double tap strikes to make sure the target is dead. The second rocket often kills the innocent rescuers."

Hiero slammed on the brakes, bringing the old pickup to a hard stop on the side of the road. He exited the vehicle, slamming his door shut.

Mary and I scrambled from the passenger side to find him staring upward.

Within seconds, the agitated man pointed up at an empty section of sky. "There. Do you see it?"

With narrowing eyes, Mary focused on the location. "I think I see something."

Undoing his rope belt, Hiero walked along the edge of the road until he found a rock the size of a large grape. He then fumbled briefly with the rope, quickly revealing that it also functioned as a sling weapon. He placed the rock into a small leather holder and positioned himself into a firing stance. Focusing on something high in the sky—too far for me to see, his arm moved so quickly that the sling tore through the air like a whip, cracking loudly when it released the stone upward. A couple seconds later, I heard a faint pop high above. "Got it!" said Hiero with much exuberance.

I did not see the drone until the object neared the ground. With a soft thud, the vehicle crashed into harvested farmland yards from the road. I followed the others down into a shallow ditch through the wild grass and back up onto the open farmland to find the drone poised in a downward angle in the damp soil, the nose stuck deep in soft earth. Easily seen, opposing holes revealed that the stone had passed through the center fuselage.

Hiero kicked the drone onto its back to reveal a video camera. "I take it that this is a drone?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I don't see any rockets or weapons."

"This is a surveillance drone. These things come in all shapes and sizes, armed and unarmed. You shouldn't find any armed ones in the states."

Mary smeared mud from her shoes onto the camera's lens. "Why not?"

"They said that the weaponized ones are only to be used on foreigners."

Hiero huffed his displeasure through his nose. "And you believe them?"

I frowned. "Not really. Never did."

Mary looked upward. "Will there be more?"

I lifted my gaze. "I don't know.

Hiero began kicking violently at the machine, breaking off bits with each kick. When he stopped, a guttural sound slipped through his gritted teeth as he stood amongst the debris. "Cowards. In my day, if a man was sentenced to death, the executioner would have the decency to look the condemned man in the eye." Hiero gestured at the machine. "Executing people with this, it's...I don't know what it is."

The sound of a car on the highway made me turn. When I spotted a dilapidated car passing by, I sighed with relief. "We should get going. Now that you've taken down their drone, they may be coming for us."

Mary took hold of Hiero's arm and began pulling him towards the highway. "Fredrick is right. Besides, sundown is only a couple hours away."

When I entered the passenger side of the pickup, taking my spot beside Mary, Hiero stomped on the accelerated before I could close my door.

"Why haven't they moved in on us?" asked Hiero.

"You mean to arrest us?" I asked.

"Yea. What are they waiting for?" Hiero glanced up at the sky. "Why follow us with that flying contraption?"

I glanced up at the darkening eastern sky. "They are probably hoping to follow us back to some secret terrorist cell. Or if they believed me during my interrogation, they want to see how I snuck over the border into Canada."

Hiero cursed aloud. "We didn't rescue you from any secret prison; we only released you from your cell. Your country has become nothing more than a giant prison. Everyone might as well wear that ridiculous orange clothing."

Spotting familiar landmarks, I smiled nervously. "We're very close."

However, Mary did not share my sentiment, for she had focused on something in the rearview mirror. She turned to look out the back window of the pickup truck. "You were right about destroying the drone. We're now being followed."

I looked back to find a black speck on the distant highway. "Are you certain?"

"Yes. There is just one vehicle, and they are staying back."

Hiero glimpsed briefly into the rearview mirror. "They could be waiting for others before moving in."

I looked forward down the highway. "Or a roadblock."

Biting his lip, Hiero glared ahead in thought until he cursed in his ancient tongue.

Recognizing an upcoming county road, I gestured to the upcoming intersection. "Turn right. I know several ways into Tamarac forest. They cannot have people stationed on these back roads if they don't know our destination."

Hiero braked heavily as he made the turn. "Alright, skipper. You tell me when to turn. We may yet free you from this prison."


	13. Into the Fire

**13 Into the Fire**

With my sweaty palms braced against the dashboard, I guided Hiero through back roads as I mapped various routes in my head. Ever vigilant, Mary watched out the back window with her heightened vision as the truck bounced towards Tamarac, declaring that she had not seen our pursuers since turning off the highway. When the paved road turned to gravel, releasing a cloud of dust, I knew we were very close to our destination.

Watching the rising dust dissipating high behind us, I asked, "Will the cloud give us away?"

Mary shrugged. "Not sure, but we're almost home." She pointed to a junction ahead and said to Hiero, "Turn left onto the next gravel road. In a couple miles, there will be another left. Our friend should be waiting for us at the end of the final turn."

"Our friend the horse?" I asked.

"Of course," replied Mary with a smile.

As we approached the final left turn, the front of a black sedan began to pull out the narrow trail. The car began turning slowly away from us when it stopped hard, presuming noticing our approach.

Hiero slammed on the brakes as he cursed. "How did they know where to find us?"

"It's my fault," I said with the sudden realization. "They probably gathered all the information they could from state and local police computers. At the end of that dirt trail, the one they just exited, is where my car was abandoned."

Mary turned to Hiero. "He's right. They have everyone's life locked up in their computers. Their lives are open books and susceptible to anyone with power."

I glanced out the back of the pickup. "No one is behind us. Maybe we can lose them in a dust cloud. There are a lot of forks in the road."

Hiero turned off the engine. "No."

As the sedan reversed and turned to face us, Mary shared a look with her friend before letting her sharpened gaze drift out towards the approaching sedan. Taking a deep breath, she said to Hiero in a calm, steady tone, "I'm with you."

My heart raced as sweat began to run down my back. "What are saying?"

Mary's focus remained on the sedan as the vehicle stopped a stone's throw away. "I don't run from men like these."

"They have guns. We need to turn this truck around. If they take us into custody, we'll disappear forever."

"No," said Hiero. "If they want a fight, we'll give it to them."

Looking past Hiero, I saw the forest I called home. I knew it better than any other place on earth. I gripped Mary's arm and pulled her close. "Let's run through the forest. I'm sure we could lose them on foot."

Mary placed her hand over mine. "I'm sure we could, and if these men were simply police doing their job, I would run through the forest with you, but these men need to be confronted."

Gazing into her eyes, I sensed her bravery, her determination. I pleadingly shook my head only to receive a gentle squeeze of her hand as she focused again on the sedan.

After several agonizing seconds, Hiero sighed heavily. "What are they waiting for?"

Mary shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Reinforcements," I said. "They don't do anything unless they have superior numbers. We are in the middle of nowhere. I doubt they will do anything until the others show up."

Leaning forward, Hiero asked me. "What would they do if we got out of the truck?"

"Run you over. I don't know."

Mary shook her head. "Their egos are too big. They would break protocol and get out the sedan to face us. I'm sure of it."

A wry smile stretched across Hiero's face. "Ready?"

Mary nodded her response before turning to me. "Stay in the truck and stay low. The engine should protect you if they should start shooting."

"You're crazy."

Mary smiled faintly. "Maybe a little. Stay as low as possible."

Hiero opened his door and exited slowly, Mary following close behind. When they stepped in front of the pickup truck, the sedan turned on its high beams to blind them.

The ample legroom of the old truck allowed me to slide off the bench seat to the floor. As I lowered most of my body below the dashboard, my hands trembled violently. Peering over the dashboard into the blinding light, I could only make out the shadows of my two friends, the sedan and two agents completely masked.

As predicted by Mary, the agents broke protocol as the sound of their car doors indicated their existing, leaving me to assume that the men stood behind those open doors with guns drawn.

The agents began shouting their commands, declaring that if we surrendered now that no one would be hurt, that their fellow agents would soon arrive. They ordered Hiero and Mary to lie on the ground, but neither of my two friends moved. Then the distinct sounds of two handguns being prepared to fire sent a tremor through my body. The agents again warned that they would shoot if Hiero and Mary did not follow orders.

My friends began to sidestep in opposite directions, their shadows parting before me as each moved towards opposite sides of the road. The agent's voices became enraged, restating vigorously that they would shoot to kill. Keeping my focus on Mary's shadow, I gasped when she suddenly disappeared, the forest brush outside the passenger window swept in her wake.

Gunshots erupted, and I ducked for cover onto the floor of the pickup truck. Unlike the movies, the distinct crack of each gunshot cut through the air much louder than expected, stinging my ears, causing my body to tremble with fear as bullets struck the solid parts of the old pickup like hammers.

As quickly as the cacophony had begun, the gunshots abruptly stopped with the sounds of heavy thumps, followed by the screams of the two agents. One man perhaps attempted to speak into a radio of some sort, but a following hard thump interrupted his words as the man screamed out in pain a second time. Scrambling out from the floor of the pickup, I tumbled out the passenger door onto the ground. When I stepped out of the blinding light of the sedan, I found Mary choking one of the federal agents with one hand as she shoved forest grass in the man's face.

Mary lifted the man by his throat before slamming him back onto the ground, yelling, "Eat it!" Using her extraordinary strength, she slammed the man against the earth a second time before shoving more grass into his mouth.

I ran forward and reached for her arms. "Mary, stop. He's done."

Mary pushed me away with such force that I flew off my feet and landed on my back. Snarling at the agent, she next struck the man on the forehead with the palm of her hand, stunning him further. "It's not done until I say it is!" Her hand tightened around the man's throat. When the agent tried to gasp for air, she shoved the wild grass again into his bloodied mouth.

Paralyzed by the terror unfolding before me, I watch helplessly as Hiero lifted his opponent high into the air, slamming him hard onto the ground, which rendered the agent unconscious before the lights of the sedan. Hiero then calmly reached into the car from the opened door and turned off the headlights, including the engine.

I scrambled forward and reached for Mary's arm, but this time I prepared myself for her push back. I gripped tight as she tried pushing my away. Though she could toss me around like a rag doll, I did not let go. "Mary, look at me! Stop it!"

Mary froze as her eyes glared into mine.

Slumping to my knees, I held my grip on her arm. "You can hate them all you want, but please, don't become one of them. Please, don't hurt them." When Mary again jerked her arm, I continued to hold firm.

Mary continued to look into my pleading eyes as her armed twitched once more, halfheartedly. She stopped trying to shake me loose as her eyes began to well. She slowly glanced down at battered man. "He's one of them. He's no different."

When the battered agent coughed, blood and grass spilled from his mouth, and the sight caused me recall the first events of the Dakota War. Standing to my feet, I took a more consolatory hold of Mary's arm as she too returned to her feet. When her eyes met mine, I asked, "When the war started, were you the one that shoved the grass into the mouth of the governmental trader that stole from the Sioux."

Mary's breathing had calmed slightly as she candidly looked at me. "Yes. The trader was already dead when I shoved grass into his mouth. He was the one that told use to..." Overcome with emotion, Mary gazed down at the coughing agent.

I gripped both of Mary's hands and gave them a supporting squeeze. "He was the man that told the Sioux to eat grass or their own dung if they were starving. But this agent here is not that government trader from the 1860s."

"He's just like them. The way he looks at others, the condescending tone, he's just another tyrannical bastard. No one should have that much power over someone else." Mary wiped her eyes. "I use to think that was why the colonist first came from Europe, to be free from another's abuse, but I now understand that they came here to have things their way, to be able to force their views on others. Things never change."

When I felt her muscles tense with rage, I pulled her close and kissed her. Her lips felt taut, but I continued to press mine to hers until her mouth began to relax. Following suit, our bodies pressed together as my hands drifted to her hips and around her waist. When I felt her mouth begin to reciprocate, my heart swelled with joy.

When our lips parted, I whispered, "I remember now. This morning, just before you rescued me, I recalled that dream where we first kissed. I know now that you had somehow visited me in my dream, that it was more than a simple dream; it was real at the same time. I have loved you with all my heart for some time now, and didn't even realize it until today."

Wide eyed, Mary lovingly touched my face, brushing my hair to the side. "I'm so glad you remember. I've loved you ever since that night. I didn't want to tell you. I wanted you to remember on your own."

"How did you visit me in my dream?"

Mary smiled. "At the motel, do you remember finding something that had been slipped under your door?"

Recalling that night, my brow furled as I recalled finding what I thought to be a cheap motel souvenir on the floor. "The dream catcher?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Dream catchers work both ways," she said.

"To catch the dreamer?"

"Yes," replied Mary. "When you rode through the blue bells that day, the pollen you inhaled put you into a deeper slumber, allowing me to visit more easily."

Recalling that I left the dream catcher on the simple writing desk, I said, "I didn't hang the dream catcher over the bed."

"It only had to be in the same room," said Mary, appearing more at ease.

"I should have said something on the drive up, but I thought it best to wait until we were alone. I remember all of it. I remember how we talked all night. I remember our first kiss. I just thought it was a dream and let it fade into my subconscious."

The bloodied agent coughed as he rolled slowly onto his stomach. He retched onto the ground and then proceeded to crawl away.

Mary's fervor returned to her eyes, but she remained at my side as she simply watched the man crawl. When the man scrambled slowly to his feet, she asked, "What do you suggest we do about him?"

Before I could answer, Hiero swooped in and punched the disorientated man across the face, knocking the agent unconscious. Hiero stood over the still man, staring intently at his face. After several seconds, Hiero turned to Mary and asked, "Should I blast him?"

As Mary gnawed her lip, I glanced at both before asking, "What's blasting?"

Mary gently squeezed my hand as her gaze continued to soften. "I'll tell you later once you're safe," she said. She turned to Hiero. "Don't blast him. Just leave them both."

"As you wish, my dear." Hiero began inspecting his knuckles. "May I suggest we skedaddle before their friends show up."

Mary however did not move or reply to Hiero's suggestion, for she simply stared vengefully at the unconscious man as her face began to harden.

I stepped before her and kissed her again. I kissed her with growing confidence and sensed a more rapid softening of her mouth. My face flushed with mixed emotions as I pressed my forehead to hers. "The world constantly changes; it always will. It destroyed all that you beheld when the Europeans rolled across this continent. My world too has changed, and it no longer has a place for me; I no longer feel part of this world. All I want now is to be with you. I know you desire vengeance, but leave these men be. Please, Mary, take me back to the lake where I can be washed clean. Take me to the fields of honest work where I can be harmonious with nature. I want to be where thoughts are not feared and the spirit is free. I want to be with you. Mary, take me home."

All the anger seemed to evaporate from Mary. A tear rolled from her eye, falling harmlessly from her cheek to her blouse. Without saying another word, she took my hand and began walking with me along the dirt trail. Within less than a mile, we found the white horse waiting for us at the prearranged location.

With plenty of room atop the magnificent beast, we traveled the path of the bluebells, the fading twilight behind us. With Mary in the middle, I snuggly held onto her as I bobbed uneasily on the swaying hips of the horse.

Leaning forward, I inhaled deeply the woodland scent of her hair and smiled, my thoughts constantly returning to our recent kiss—and more. I unabashedly began to think of all the things I wanted to do with her once we reached the lake. Though I did not care if she read my mind, I did begin to worry that my current thoughts were too carnal—perhaps too soon. Mostly, I wanted her to know how much I wanted to fall asleep in her arms, to get up in the morning when my body felt like stirring, to live free, to love, to become a spirit of a different sort.

Mary laid her hand atop my thigh and gave it a squeeze, she peered over her shoulder and purred, her thoughts filling my head. _I know, and not too soon._ She then silently relayed all the things she wanted to do with me.

Hiero began to chuckle. "Can you two hold off a bit longer, or shall I ask our friend to quicken his pace?"

When we reached the lake, Hiero dropped us off at the beach where we began to wash the day's sweat from our bodies…and from one another. After our kisses had progressed to much more, we collapsed onto the sand, exhausted. With the water lapping at our feet, we laughed and cried in each other's arms. We were happy; we were where we belonged; we were home.

Later, in the middle of the night, we decided to retire to the cabin to sleep peacefully in Mary's bed. As we approached the porch, we found Graham sitting on an old wicker couch with a scantily clothed Ekko laying lengthwise, her head comfortably resting on the man's lap. The cheerful man reached into a bowl of grapes and fed one to his friend, her eyes closed, her hand gently waving in the air as if listening to music that only she could hear. When Graham spotted us coming up from the lake, his smile grew. "I knew you'd be back."

"That I am. I can safely say that I'm here for good."

"Well then, welcome home," he said. "Welcome to my world."

 **Epitaph**

Settling into my new home, I acclimated quicker than most, soaking up as much knowledge as possible. I become captivated by their intricate star charts and found their acoustic music addicting, which would eventually lead me to learn piano from Silkie. Once I evolved further, I truly was able to listen to music for the first time, the magic I cannot yet put into words.

Ekko taught me the intricacies of fruits, explaining how the sunlight had been captured within: trace amounts of energy converted temporarily into a matter state, unleashed once consumed.

My friend Tara taught me how to dance with a swarm of bees, and Hiero guided me through the dangers of time berries.

Though my impression of these people was that of pacifists, I quickly learned that they could become quite angry at one another, to the point that bloody challenges were declared; but like any true family, there would be a lull followed by reconciliation. (Nevertheless, Graham has more concisely told this story.)

And despite their sharing natures, jealousy occasionally reared its ugly head, for you see, these spirits of a different sort never truly lose all their human origins, evident by the unflattering traits that would resurface from time to time.

One of my more special moments happened a couple weeks after my return. Mary shared with me her real name and later, helped me discover my own, which I immediately bestowed to her.

Mary always remained in my forethought no matter what exciting discoveries awaited me in this most magical land. Mary and I had ups and downs like every couple, but as Hiero once described our pairing; we were two molecules destined for a grand collision that would release an almighty energy, creating a bond only found in dreams.

It was not long until I began to feel the mischief that the others occasionally felt. This mischief forced many to look for trouble, causing some—like Hiero—to visit the old world to play tricks on the humans. (I cannot tell you where my mischief led me, not yet anyway.)

Time is bountiful in this land with many days simply spent lying about, enjoying the simplest pleasures of life. Often, Mary and I would find a cozy spot amongst the sunflowers to bath in the sun and talk. From our sanctuary on the hill, we had a clear view of the lake, and here we sometimes remained through the night.

It was during one of these days when Mary informed me how monarch butterflies actually migrate from Canada to Mexico. Astounded by the secret, I lay speechless in her arms until we returned to the cabin to change our clothes, for a harvest celebration had been planned to occur at the beach. As we dressed in the ramshackle house, we heard the whinny of white horse. Mary and I went out onto the porch to find Hiero riding up with a young woman. The woman—perhaps in her twenties—sat before the man.

Mary smiled warmly at our new guest. "Hello."

"Hello," replied the young woman.

Sounding overly exuberant, Hiero said to the woman, "Wait for me, my dear. I'll help you down." He jumped off the horse and immediately began assisting the woman.

I gave Hiero a cautious look. "Weren't you nervous about returning to that world so soon? I'm guessing we're still wanted fugitives, despite the twenty or so years that may have passed."

Hiero nodded. "I'm sure we are still wanted thanks to all that wonderful technology of theirs, but I didn't go to Minnesota."

"England?"

"Nope."

I began to feel the stare of our new arrival. Her eyes were wide as she smiled nervously. When Mary gasped subtly, I began to feel uneasy. I turned to the young woman and gave her a second look, but she remained silent. My attention returned to Hiero as I searched for clues. "Won't Tara become jealous if she finds you with a new friend so soon?"

Hiero pulled the riding blanket from the horse's back. "Tara knows that my feelings for her haven't waned a bit. I love everyone with all my heart."

"Well then, aren't you going to formally introduce us to your new friend?"

"No need."

"No need?" I returned my gaze to the young woman. When I realized that she was waiting for something, I began to look for a fine detail in her look or demeanor that would trigger my memory.

Hiero rested a hand upon my shoulder. "She's not here for me, she's here for you."

When I turned to Mary, she confirmed Hiero's words with a simple nod.

Hiero began following the horse to the stables. "Since you adapted to our world so quickly, I became curious; so I went to see if it was genetic."

My mouth fell open as I turned to the young woman.

The young woman walked up to me and reached for my hand. She kissed it and said, "Hello, father."

 **The End**

 **Author's Note:**

After reading **Some Kind of Fairy Tale** by Graham Joyce, I was stunned that I had not learned of this story prior—or of the author Graham Joyce. After all, my family and friends know of my love for contemporary fantasies, and yet, it would be a free book credit needing to be spent that would lead me to this most delightful story.

Google for the book review posted by The Guardian.

With most of my fan fiction focused on the Hunger Games, I needed to find a fresh venue in which to play. I thought the endless subplot possibilities and cast of eccentric characters in **Some Kind of Fairy Tale** would be the perfect playground for fan fiction, but I would soon discover that I was alone with this thought, for there exists zero fanfic for this novel.

I then experienced the worst shock when I discovered that Graham Joyce had died a few months prior from lymphoma.

The Guardian wrote a fitting obituary that can be easily found: "Graham Joyce, much-loved fantasy author, dies aged 59"

Stephen King called him "a truly great novelist", adding: "Too soon. Far too soon."

After reading his obituary—and weeping, I proceeded to dive into many of his other books: The Tooth Fairy, Dark Sister, and The Year of the Ladybird to name a few.

While reading his last book, I became determined to write fan fiction for **Some Kind of Fairy Tale** even if I may be alone in this endeavor.

If you have not read Some Kind of Fairy Tale, please do. You won't regret it.

Thank you, Graham, for all the wonderful stories.


End file.
